


Things It Would Be Helpful To Know (Before the Revolution)

by PAPERSK1N



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: (me using the tags to ramble about how much i love and appreciate and am proud of Geoff Ramsey), (never Geoff), (not Geoff), (past) - Freeform, Achievement Hunters, Agoraphobia, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Anger, Angst, Class Differences, Class Issues, Dark fic, Dissociation, Drama, Everyone is kind of awful, Graphic Violence, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mavin, Minor Character Death, Multi, Mystery, Psychological Trauma, Raywood, Sexual Content, Tension, Well - Freeform, but not like DARK DARK, but probably not the kind you're used to, it's darker than the kinda stuff I've tackled before in certain aspects, other ships are tagged but are very minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-12-25 03:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PAPERSK1N/pseuds/PAPERSK1N
Summary: Ryan moves intoThe Achievement Hunter Lifestyle Complex Towerwith the promise that he'll never want or need for anything on the outside world ever again. He's socially awkward, troubled by the past and most of all lonely- until he meets the mysterious Ray, who lives one floor above him and his friends, Michael and Gavin, who live five floors below.At first, the idea of a tower seems like a dream! However, as the days pass and the tower struggles to 'settle', power struggles pit residents against each other in a bitter fued, Ryan stuck in the middle, as he tries to figure out Ray, The Tower, The Architect, and most importantly- himself.(This is an AU of the JG Ballard novel (and film of the same name starring Tom Hiddleston) High Rise)





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> So- I'm not dead!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> I just want to start by saying that this monster of a fic, something I've been working on (and off and on and off and on) for the best part of eight months, is a sort of _Swan Song_. As you've maybe noticed, I'm not so active in the RT/AH fandom anymore. I wish I could give you a reason, but there honestly isn't one. I'm just not as hardcore into RT as I used to be. I don't keep up on the videos, or most of the social media. Things change, people change, my interests have peaked elsewhere.
> 
> This will be my last RT/AH fic. Half the reason why it's taken so long was me sort of falling out of the community. But, I persevered, because I loved the concept so much and I really wanted those of you left still following this account to see it. Even if you hate it- even if nobody ever reads it or gives kudos or comments. I'm just happy to be here.
> 
> I want to say thanks to everyone who ever liked/gave kudos/ commented on any of my fics. I had the privilege of being one of the more successful writers in this fandom, and all your wonderful support and feedback has spurred me on writing. Without the RT/AH fic-dom, I doubt I'd have developed my writing skills the way I have. I'm heading off to university (literally, in two weeks!) to do Creative Writing, and I owe a lot of that decision to you all!!!
> 
> Thank you in advance for any kudos / comments / fic recs for this fic. It's probably the most ambitious story I've ever tackled. The title comes from a Father John Misty song that sums up the whole mood of the fic pretty well. I really hope you like it.
> 
> And hey-
> 
> Thanks.

Part One

 

 

 

 

James Ryan Haywood of apartment 2507 had, in a short amount, of time grown quite accustom to life in The Tower.

It was a new development by the Rooster Teeth Corporation, aptly named _The Achievement Hunter Lifestyle Tower Complex_ and was said to be the finest example of ‘modern living’ ever seen on earth. Thirty stories of thick concrete walls and sleek, glass windows stood in the centre of a once-empty gravel pit. Around the Tower itself was only empty concrete, the lot occupied sparsely with construction equipment that laid idle around the foundations for several other soon-to-be-constructed towers. AH was the first and, so Ryan had heard, The Architect was looking to create several others if this ‘trial’ functioned successfully.

A normal day in the Tower for Ryan would go like this:

At seven thirty AM, the built-in alarm system would flare, rousing him from (a usually fitful and exhausting attempt at) sleep. His shower would be running steaming water before he even stepped into the room, and that first breath of air in the bathroom would already be tinted with the taste of steam and condensation. His shower would usually last around ten to fifteen minutes (any longer and the water would run cold before cutting out completely) as living in a Tower meant sharing your hot water with the few hundred or so other people that lived there. A lingering shower wasn’t a luxury someone like him, barely staying afloat on floor twenty-five, could afford.

After the shower, his bathroom mirror would light up with the itinerary of his day. Ryan didn’t often pay much attention to this, scrolling through notes and building maintenance updates with a lazy, unfocused stare until his toothpaste machine dispensed him with his daily allowance of _Crest._

 

_“Just a reminder from the maintenance team here! Make sure to only put small bags and items in the garbage disposal to avoid congestion! All large bags of trash should be disposed of down in the waste centre in the basement! Have a nice day!”_

 

Ryan usually muted the message board after that, uninterested in anything else the chipper voices had to say. After his standard morning routine (trimming his beard, brushing his teeth, applying concealing moisturiser to the dark circles under his eyes) he’d retreat to his bedroom where a fresh, pressed suit would be waiting of him in the wardrobe. His clothes were just about the only things he’d had time to unpack in his short week and a half of living in apartment 2507. Everything else he owned aside from the basic furniture that came with the home stood waiting in tall stacks of cardboard boxes he’d brought in with him on moving day. He just hadn’t quite found the time to unpack them yet as he got used to the swing of things in his new, fast-paced, futuristic lifestyle.

After a substantial enough breakfast of muesli, or occasionally, whatever cereal was on special in the Tower supermarket, Ryan would make his way through the hallway and into the elevator, which took him down to the main lobby. The elevator was fairly basic, with a button for every floor and the Tower logo (Green star, black background) large and looming on both the floor and the ceiling. The elevator creaked as it went up and down, but Ryan just supposed that it needed some getting used to around the shaft. Everything in The Tower was so new, it was hard to believe that _everything_ could run perfectly right away.

From the lobby, Ryan would step out into the parking lot, keeping pace with the gaggle of businessmen and women that too made their way in and out every morning. He would watch as they would hop into shining sports cars, or expensive SUV’s with pipes hanging from their mouths and expensive, pressed suits covering their scaly, dry skin. Ryan wasn’t anywhere near the level of successful as most of them, but he supposed did alright for himself, and that was enough.

Ryan worked in a cyber security company, tinkering around with computers behind a desk for most of the day, but he was in a somewhat senior management position. This made his salary acceptable enough to afford an apartment on the higher mid-levels of the AH Tower and not much else. But that was the essential persuading factor that lured people into Tower life. Once you were _in_ , you never really needed an _out_.

Ryan thought this over as he laid outside on his balcony, dress-shirt unbuttoned, eyes closed. The sun was just beginning to set and one by one, floors of the Tower were cast into the shade. He still had a few sunbeams crossing over to his balcony, and the warmth was comforting. It was quite peaceful at night- Ryan hadn’t made many friends inside yet, but the balcony was a perfect place to unwind after a stressful day.

He flinched when the sound of a can hitting the floor pierced his eardrums. Eyes open and blown suddenly, Ryan looked directly upwards, following the sound of a deep voice that piqued with curiosity.

“Sorry dude!” they called, and Ryan squinted before making eye contact with a man. Well, if you could even call him that- he seemed very young, scruffy black curls framing his face and darkening the top of his head, scratchy facial hair surrounding his mouth. Ryan couldn’t make out much else of him over the balcony, but a skinny wrist waving a limp hand gave him enough cause to believe that the guy was pretty small, lithe, or possibly starving. “If you wanna blame anyone,” he continued to call over the balcony, sunlight reflecting off the frames of his dark, square glasses “blame Michael!”

“Hey!” Another voice, this one rougher, yet higher in pitch chimed in from behind.

The man Ryan could see only grinned in response. Suddenly, he felt self-conscious and moved to button his shirt.

“I’m Ray.” This kid- this _Ray_ \- didn’t seem fazed at all by his nervousness. “You’re the guy who just moved in right? Sorry about all this. Like I said, I’m Ray and that’s Michael,” he gestured to the disembodied voice that stood behind him, who grunted in greeting but did not make himself seen. “2607.”

“I’m Ryan Haywood, uh, 2507.” He wasn’t sure why a blush lingered on his cheeks, spreading slowly to his chest. “And it’s fine… I… shouldn’t have just been laying out here.”

Ray’s dark eyes sparkled and then, Ryan understood. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I was enjoying the view just fine.”

And that was how Ryan came to meet his upstairs neighbour. They chatted over the balcony for a little while, and Ryan learned three key things about the distantly excitable, easily enchanting boy.

Firstly, Ray was nine years his junior. In the past, Ryan had found that he didn’t get on with younger men well past one-night-stands, as often he felt intimidated by their youth and confidence and they were usually freaked out by his awkwardness and imposing figure matched with a noticeably _un-_ imposing personality. He guessed most of the younger men he’d been lucky enough to sleep with deeply regretted their decisions by the next morning as he stumbled over breakfast invitations and stammered his way through small-talk.

The second thing Ryan learned about Ray was that he lived alone. He found that odd- choosing not to question the identity of the other guy- _Michael-_ who he assumed to still be lurking silently behind. So, this _Michael_ wasn’t his partner? He must’ve just been another top-floor resident, hanging around with a neighbour and wondering what the _fuck_ a twenty-sixer like Ray would want with someone like Ryan, hanging onto twenty five by the edges of their fingertips.

That also struck him as strange. He couldn’t imagine how someone as young and as alone as Ray could afford a place on the twenty-sixth floor. Again, he didn’t ask. So far, Ray hadn’t been completely alienated by his shoddy attempts at conversation. Ryan didn’t want to push his luck- as they’d only been talking for twenty minutes or less. Somehow, Ray seemed to still be interested.

Thirdly (and this one was more of a gradual realisation) Ray was attractive to Ryan in all the ways he’d never thought were attractive in a person. Ryan was old and built and bitter- he didn’t go for the little twinky kids with sparkly smiles and hard to comprehend colloquial dialect. He didn’t go for _anyone_ , really, due to severe anxiety revolving around rejection and abandonment that he’d refused to talk about with his last shrink. Ray was a messy-looking person, with his patchy facial hair, unruly hair, askew glasses. Ryan was the kind of guy who liked everything to be sharp and clean and neat and packed away into neat cardboard boxes where it belonged and couldn’t escape when his back was turned.

“Oh, and hey-” Ray was sparkling under the light of the setting sun as he turned, looking again behind himself briefly, to the man Ryan still had yet to see. In the time they had spoken, Ray had reached for a cigarette and lit it between his lips. Currently, it was perched between two slender fingers, ash occasionally falling down, past Ryan, to the concrete floor far below them where it disintegrated in the wind. “Michael and his other half, Gavin, they’re throwing a party at their place tomorrow night. Floor twenty. You should come.”

That certainly surprised Ryan. So _Michael_ , whoever he was, was from floor _twenty?_ As far as Ryan was aware thus far in his entire week and a half of penthouse life, people didn’t usually stretch out socially past one or two floors above or below them. Ray was twenty-six, higher than even him, and only four away from the top. This illusive _Michael_ and his partner, Gavin, were a whole ten below penthouse level.

“Sure.” Ryan did his best to remain casual, and shot Ray a small smile. “I suppose it’s about time I got to know my neighbours.”

It wasn’t a lie. Ryan had been living in the Tower, at that point, for almost two weeks and he’d yet to have a conversation with a single person past the weather, or yet another reminder about oversized bags in the garbage disposal. Like he gave a shit. One person tossing full-sized garbage bags into the disposal wasn’t going to shut the whole building down, and he didn’t exactly have a lot of trash to accumulate. He hadn’t even unpacked yet.

 

(He was working towards it)

 

 

* * *

 

 

“New plaything?”

Ray rolled his eyes at Michael, who was still lurking in the corner of his balcony by the door, fourth or fifth cigarette short and almost burnt-out between his lips. He wasn’t really one to judge about bad habits, but _jesus_ , Michael smoked like his life depended on it. Ray wasn’t sure how Gavin put up with it- or him.

“He’s nice.” He shrugged, thinking about the mysterious _Ryan,_ from 2507. Of course, Ray’d seen him downstairs plenty of times over the last few weeks, laid out comfortably on his balcony like a cat in a sunbeam drifting in and out of light sleep, as if he was afraid to relax for too long. All it took was the completely accidental elbowing of an empty _Mountain_ _Dew_ can (or three or four until he hit his target) over to edge of the balcony to strike up conversation.

“He’s _nice_.” Michael mimicked, a slight bite in his teasing tone. “So fucking what? I didn’t think _nice_ was your type.”

Ray leant up off the edge of the balcony, and moved to re-enter his apartment. Michael moved aside from the corner smoothly and blocked him from doing so. Ray set his mouth into a thin line.

Despite all the years they’d known each other, and every terrible thing he’d seen his best friend do to himself and others, Michael didn’t scare Ray one inch. Truly, in his heart, he was completely harmless. “My type,” he prodded him harshly in the centre of the chest before smiling sweetly, “Is anyone unlike _you_.”

A filthy smirk, paired with a deep chuckle thundering through Michael’s chest against his finger was shot his way in response. Ray frowned, pushing harder, but Michael was solid beneath him and didn’t budge from his spot in front of Ray’s door.

“Fucking hell, what is Gavin _feeding_ you-”

“-nothing, he’s too depressed to cook.” Michael replied matter-of-factly, drawing his beer to his lips and taking a hefty chug, before tossing his long burnt-out cigarette over the balcony. Then, his free hand settled at Ray’s hip, soft brown eyes like whiskey in a sunbeam drinking him in as if he was the first drop of rain in a dry summer. Michael’s lips were pursed and dry, until his pink tongue darted out from between them.

“Maybe I should’ve shacked up with you when I had the chance.” He whispered, gaze darting between Ray’s eyes and his lips, heated.

Ray clenched his jaw. “You’re _not_ funny.” He pushed past, more forcefully this time, and Michael relented. Ray marched into the apartment and Michael remained still, stood on the other side of the French doors, smiling at him.

“See you at Gavin’s party tomorrow!” he called jovially as Ray stalked off in the direction of his bedroom. He didn’t bother gracing the statement with a response.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

On the whole, Tower life was pretty easy to get into the swing of. Within the first few days Ryan had his routine set and all he had to do for the weeks that followed was stick to it. He left to go to work every weekday morning and returned every weekday evening. Other than that, well, he didn’t have a reason to leave. The Tower had everything you needed, only ever a few floors away-

and now, he had _Ray_.

Pretty Ray who lived upstairs and drank Mountain Dew and smoked cigarettes. Ryan had never cared for the taste of either, but he imagined the mix of flavours was one he could become easily accustom to if it was sampled from Ray’s pert lips.

Tower life planted its roots in Ryan’s head and spread its sapling across his entire existence. Even when he did venture outside – and only ever to work - it followed. His assistant was curious what life could be like living in somewhere so self-sufficient and a young guy he’d been working with for a year or so was actually a fellow resident.

Brandon was a strange type of person. He seemed to be the type of person who enjoyed not-enjoying things, got off on stress and found joy in complaints. Ryan didn’t really care- the people he worked with usually all blended into one mush of _person_ \- but since moving into the Tower and discovering Brandon was a neighbour, he’d paid more and more attention into his frequent ramblings.

“I mean, I heard one theory-” oh, and he was _theorising_ again. This was one of Brandon’s favourite past-times, Ryan had learnt in the week or so he’d been observing him from afar. This was the first time he’d engaged Brandon physically, however, moving to sit at his table during their shared lunch break. Brandon seemed grateful for the captive audience. “-the building’s architect, a man called _Ramsey_ , had been employed by the United States government to run an experiment. The Tower, it’s like, a trial run to see if they can control the population the same way they do rats in a lab. You know- keeping them packed into tiny boxes, delivering essentials on a drip feed, slowly removing their individuality.”

The other people on the table, none of whom Ryan could name, nodded along thoughtfully. He resisted the urge to scoff.

“Interesting theory.” He said instead. “What did you say your name was again?”

It was a new tactic he was trying with Brandon. His ego was largely inflamed by the fact that he lived all the way up on the twenty-eighth floor, and Ryan despised this fact. Until he’d indulged in learning who Brandon was, he hadn’t met a single person higher than himself.

Apart from Ray.

“Brandon, Farmahini? We’ve worked together for like, two years.” Brandon rolled his eyes, looking over to the rest of the table for the pathetic approval he craved. They gave in, all nodding and rolling their eyes and laughing shortly. Ryan ignored them. “I live in 2809. Pretty high up, but I’m thinking of moving higher, you know? Like, under the penthouse.” Brandon shrugged in a way he must’ve thought made it look like a casual, passing remark, but Ryan saw the vicious hopefulness in his eyes. “Hey, did you know that the Tower actually has thirty-two floors?” he added, and Ryan raised an eyebrow. For the first time, Brandon had actually said something that he didn’t already know, or immediately disregard as horseshit. His response goaded him to continue. “Yeah, uh- the first thirty are labelled in numerical order but then, the floor underneath the penthouse where all the people who are rich enough to socialise with the architect live is just floor zero. Then, the penthouse has no labelled number. Not even in the elevators! Crazy, huh?”

“Crazy.” Ryan nodded in agreement. He’d remember that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He’d been up and down on his initial tour of the building, and rode the elevator to the lobby every day- occasionally stopping for the supermarket or the gym or the pool, all of which located on the first fifteen floors- but then there was the period in between those and his own home, the first ten occipital floors, that Ryan had never ever ventured to. When the elevator doors creaked open on floor twenty, even the smell as different. Suddenly, when Ryan looked even inside the elevator itself, he noticed the rust in the corners.

The halls were dark, dim spotlights that occasionally hummer or flickered in neat lines across the ceiling. All the doors were beaten wood, rather than sleek, dark grey awnings like the ones on his floor. The door numbers were sparse and individually unique- like people had brought their own from past homes. When he came to a stop outside 2012, the numbers had been stuck on hurriedly with glaring, black and white stickers. Underneath, was a small red square with a doodled smiley face on the inside. Ryan frowned, but knocked anyway.

He was met with the face of a man, pale in skin with freckles dotting his face. Atop his head was a halo of bouncing reddish-brown curls, and his eyes, despite the way they’d been narrowed into suspicious slits behind thin metal framed glasses, sparked with youth and innocence. Ryan was lost for words. He was _beautiful_ , of course, but his less attractive personality glared underneath his angelic face. The dangerous, yet playful, glint in his eyes wasn’t unlike the scruffiness of his clothes, a worn faded t-shirt with old blue jeans, ripped at the knees and sneakers. He stood still, and Ryan clutched the wine in his hand that he’d brought as offering a little tighter.

“Who the fuck’re you again?”

The voice was familiar. Ryan recognised it from his first, and only, conversation with Ray to date.

“I- uh, I’m Ryan. 2507. Ray invited me-”

“-Oh yeah.” Michael- it had to be him- stood back slightly, pulling the door ajar with him. Ryan didn’t still feel particularly welcomed into his home however, as Michael leant his head back, chin jutted up and peered at him. “Yeah.” He nodded, after another few tense seconds before stepping out the so Ryan could pass. “I remember now. Hey, Ray!” he turned and hollered, voice hurtling at shocking volume into the centre of the party. Ryan took this as his chance to peer around the room for the one person he actually came for. “-your buddy is here. 2507.”

Ray made his way through the crowd with a loose smile, brushing past packs of strangers before stopping beside them at the door.

“You came.” He seemed happy, and Ryan was glad. For a few short moments, he had feared that Ray didn’t intend for him to come to the party at all, and his invitation was only out of awkward, neighbourly politeness.

“I did.” He swallowed.

Michael rolled his eyes and huffed beside them, before reaching forwards and snatching the wine from Ryan’s arms. Not that Ryan minded at all- firstly because he didn’t really drink alcohol and secondly, more importantly, for the way Ray was watching him with that same, unreadable smile he’d shone down from his balcony.

“Here.” Ray reached out and grabbed him by the hand. Ryan felt his entire body become taken over by warmth. “Come and meet Gavin.”

Ryan let Ray pull him through the party, looking around at the room. This apartment was far more lived in than his, but he wasn’t sure that was a good thing. Sure, it may have only been a month or so old, but Michael and his Gavin had made the place look _homey_. It looked like it had been lived in for years, chipped furniture and all. Magnets covered the surface of the refrigerator, photos hung crookedly on the walls. The carpets were garish and the wallpaper screamed _seventies_ , smoke already curled and set into the walls. Michael himself was smoking inside, something Ryan thought for sure wasn’t allowed under building policy, but then, when he looked around, so was everyone else.

“Gav, this is Ryan I was telling you about.” Ray pulled him to the edge of the party, where a thin, lanky _boy_ was stood, watching everyone quietly. He had a bruise on his collarbone, showed off by a loose t-shirt that hung off his narrow shoulders, and fell at his slender waist, giving the slightest hint of tanned skin above his jeans every time he so much as breathed. Michael pushed past them, wine bottle open, stopping briefly to smash his lips into his cheek. Right- Ryan remembered now. This was Gavin, Michael’s ‘ _other half’_.

He looked young- probably as young as Ray but twice as naïve. His eyes were sunken and dull, a clear sign of chronic exhaustion. Ryan wasn’t a doctor- but he was pretty sure nobody that young could ever be that tired and still be considered ‘in good health’.

“What floor are you?” Gavin asked, drawing him out of his observations with a surprisingly chipper voice and- even stranger- a British accent. This time, when Ryan looked around briefly, he realised he and Gavin had been left alone. Ray was nowhere to be seen. The party continued on. Gavin tipped his glass, a silent offering. Ryan shook his head.

“No thanks. And I’m from twenty-five.”

“Impressive.” He nodded, taking a sip. The scent of alcoholic spirit hit Ryan’s nose immediately, despite the fact that they were stood over a foot apart. “Not many people here have ever been that high, well, except for Ray.” He eyes wandered over to the corner, and yes- there Ray was- perched on the kitchen counter, laughing as he spoke to a girl with blonde hair, cigarettes waving in their hands as they spoke.

“He’s twenty-six.” Ryan looked back over to Gavin, who was now fishing around in his own beaten, carboard box for a crooked cigarette. He tilted it to Ryan. Ryan shook his head. Gavin lit his cigarette.

“How did he manage to get that?” he asked instead, still curious as to how someone as young as Ray had made it to so high. “I tried, but twenty-five was the highest they could offer me when I applied for tenancy.”

Gavin shrugged his bony, protruding shoulders uncaringly, but the glance into the corner of the room was telling enough. He inhaled sharply, and the smoke floating in the air spun and twirled with the withheld information.

“Ray has his ways of making things happen. He’s quite the vertical trainspotter, if you get what I mean.”

Ryan frowned as Gavin took a heavy drink, followed by another drag. “No, I’m afraid I don’t” he said.

Gavin smiled, and they both continued to watch Ray, as a small circle of people gathered around him with wide, interested eyes and soft, fond smirks. They were all _so_ _keen_ to listen to whatever tale it was that he was spinning- Ryan quickly guessed that he wasn’t the first person Ray had captivated within moments of meeting.

“He spots his opportunities, like trains, and rides them as far as he can.” Gavin’s voice floated behind him, followed by a long blow of breath as he exhaled smoke towards the ceiling. “Up _or_ down.”

“Hm.” Ryan wasn’t sure what else to say. Gavin didn’t seem put off by his shoddy attempt at conversation.

 “-But anyway, enough about Ray- he gets enough attention as it is. How are you finding it all?” Gavin turned back to him and smiled. It was the first time Ryan had seen any kind of emotion cross his face, and he decided that he actually quite liked the look of Gavin, once a little life and colour was flush in his cheeks. “I know it’s a lot to get used to, _Tower_ _Life_ and that.” He waved his hand around vaguely. Ryan shrugged.

“I don’t know. I’ll admit I feel a little out of my depth.” He looked back around at the party. A room full of strangers. He’d noticed them staring since he’d walked in, and couldn’t blame them. Here, he was the outsider. Even though he’d only moved in two weeks after the tower had officially opened, it wasn’t hard to feel like he was constantly running, playing catch-up behind families and tenants that had already found their social standings.

“It is a daunting prospect, and, well, apart from Ray not a lot of people here are used to seeing people who live above… like… twenty-two.” Gavin said, also looking over at the guests who were staring at Ryan with the same level of distrust lions casted at hyenas. “Don’t let them phase you though, mate.” He brushed Ryan’s bicep with his hand gently. “They’re all bark and no bite.”

“Hey, you!”

Both Ryan and Gavin turned when a guy wearing thin, circular framed glasses and what looked to be a silk _bathrobe_ approached them, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“Me?” Ryan questioned, not that he needed to. The guy was staring straight at him with a shallow, accusing glare. Ryan was starting to understand what Gavin meant by people not being used to seeing others who lived where he did.

“Yeah, you! You’ve been putting your trash bags in the garbage disposal!”

Ryan’s eyebrows raised. Jesus- did they have security cameras _in_ his apartment? He’d never seen the guy before in his life, let alone stopped him in the hall to discuss his _sanitation disposal_ habits.

“I haven’t.” He lied. Ryan wasn’t sure why he was lying- he didn’t owe the guy a thing, but he did seem a little unstable. Ryan was already out of place enough at the party, so the last thing he needed was to start a fight. Gavin snickered quietly besides him.

“Bags that are too large cause blockages- not that any of you upstairs will have noticed! Down on my floor, it’ll start piling up soon!”

“Well, I’m very sorry about that-”

“-you need to learn the rules here, Haywood.” There was a coldness to his tone, and Ryan felt it deep in the centre of his chest. There was something about this guy, with his bathrobe and cigarette, that put him very much on edge. “Otherwise,” he glared. “you’ll regret the day you set foot inside.”

Ryan didn’t have an answer to that. He stood, uncomfortable, speechless and completely taken aback.

 

“-Hey, mate,” Gavin’s voice chimed in, rescuing him from the awkward confrontation. “Isn’t that your wife disappearing into the bathroom with Blaine Gibson?”

 

The man’s eyes widened, and he looked over to the corner of the room where a woman in a pink dress was laughing with a far younger, muscular man, who had taken her by the hand. He threw his cigarette down onto the floor, and stomped on it. Gavin didn’t move to clean it up- and the guy fumed away, fists gripped by his sides.

Ryan was still awe-stricken at the entire exchange. He was lost for words. Gavin just rolled his eyes like the kind of thing happened every day.

“Sorry about that. Like I said… people have these… silly idea that the higher up you live, the more of an asshole you must be and they treat people as such.” He waved a hand towards the ceiling vaguely, and Ryan swallowed awkwardly. “Ignore weirdos like Carlson. They’re harmless.”

“How do you bear it?” Ryan frowned at his clumsy outburst. He hadn’t meant to sound nearly so desperate. Gavin’s tired eyes narrowed. “I mean- find it. Living here?” he stumbled to clarify. Thankfully, Gavin didn’t push for questioning.

“I… it’s okay.” He said quietly, yawning for a few strained seconds. “Michael struggled with it at first.” He looked over to his boyfriend, who was yelling excitedly as he lifted a smaller man onto his back, knocking beer everywhere. “He makes these videos, you know? _Rage Quit_ \- he calls it- where he shouts at things and films it. He’s been making a lot since we moved here.” Gavin shifted nervously on his feet, and reached across to itch at his forearm. “He has an… _awful_ temper and sometimes the Tower lifestyle makes it a little worse. He finds it… claustrophobic?”

Ryan could understand exactly what Gavin meant by _claustrophobic_.

He felt it too- every second of every day the Tower held him in a suffocating embrace. He knew it was for his own good- and the building _was_ truly marvellous by design, but that didn’t mean the whole idea didn’t take some serious getting used to. The only difference between he and Michael, he supposed, was that he knew (for the most part) how to contain his discomfort and channel it into something a little more positive.  

 

* * *

 

 

Ryan dithered around for the next hour or so, enduring as much awkward small talk and refused offers of drinks as he could as his eyes darted around, searching for his original target. Since ending his conversation with Gavin after the Brit had gone running off after his boyfriend (who was apparently causing quite the commotion as he argued with another man over a jar of olives) he’d turned his attention back to finding the sole reason he’d attended the party in the first place.

 

Ray was alone on the balcony.

 

He was leant over the edge, feet tucked up behind him, looking out at the carpark and construction sight. A lit cigarette teetered between his fingers. Smoke curled into the curls of his hair.

“Oh, hey Ryan.” he turned, hearing the glass door slide open and then shut as Ryan pulled it closed behind him. Nervously, he took a few steps forwards, before leaning against the edge, just a foot or so beside Ray.

“Hi…” he trailed off, already distracted by the tired, vacant look on Ray’s face. The scruff of his beard looked trimmed and soft, the rim of his glasses catching the moonlight and making a reflection. Behind the clear windows, his eyes sparkled. “How are you?”

Ray shrugged

“I’m okay. Just… you know, parties, they suck. I’d rather stay inside and play video games, you know? But that’s the way things go around here. If we didn’t have parties we probably wouldn’t have a reason to even look at each other.” He mused. Ryan didn’t really have an answer for that. He wanted to know what Ray meant, but quickly decided that asking would be too much of an intrusion into his psyche. Ryan wasn’t a doctor, but he could tell from a look alone that Ray probably had a lot of thoughts swarming inside his brain that he would never be able to decipher.

“There you are!”

They were both distracted by a slurring, as a drunken  Michael sauntered out onto the balcony. Ray rolled his eyes, but smiled, leaning up off the balcony and tossing his cigarette over. Then, he turned and extended a hand towards Michael, helping him stumble over. Michael groaned as his hip bumped the concrete barrier that protected them from certain death, and the glass bottle of whiskey clinked too.

“Careful.” Ray scolded lightly, helping his friend stand up a little straighter. Michael’s response to that was to lean his weight on Ray entirely, before reaching out with the bottle towards Ryan.

“Hold this.” He said, dropping it.

Ryan’s reactions were fast. He squatted the moment the bottle fell from Michael’s fingers and caught it in the palm of his hand before it had a chance to hit the floor and shatter.

“Impressive.” Ray raised an eyebrow, as Ryan turned the brown bottle over in his hands, reading the label. It was a brand he didn’t recognise. He wasn’t much of a drinker.

“I’ll drink to that!” Michael slurred, reaching out for a half-drunk beer bottle that had been abandoned on the lip of the balcony. He nodded as he lifted it to his lips, urging Ryan to join him. Reluctantly, Ryan popped the cork. There was something about Michael that he found very hard to say no to- and that was how Ryan found himself, less than half an hour later, tipsy and giggling, wandering out of the apartment not a minute past three A.M, alone, with only the thought of Ray’s dark eyes to keep him on his feet.

 

 


	2. part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan spends more time with Ray, meets The Architect, meets Meg Turney and attends a disastrous party on the top floor.

Part Two

 

 

He’d been expecting a hangover. All the people he’d ever known- mainly co-workers with tired eyes who clutched mugs of coffee like they contained water from the fountain of youth- complained relentlessly after a night of hard drinking. So yeah, Ryan was expecting to feel much the same- queasy, with a piercing headache and an aching in his bones.

Ryan’s eyes flew open and he stared to the ceiling. He felt fine. If anything, he felt more alive than he had in months.

Still, he telephoned the office with his voice overly-gravelled and wheezing to request the day off. His assistant didn’t seem to mind, just said she’d pencil it into the book and make sure all his paperwork was on his desk for when he was ready to come back.

“Oh, and Steffie-” he asked, rolling over in bed so he was laid on his front, eyes fixed onto the ticking alarm clock by his bedside. It had stopped overnight, apparently, and both the minute and second hand were stuck on twelve, unmoving. “How’s uh, what’s his name, Brandon doing? He was saying some _very_ concerning things the other day.”

_“Uh… concerning?”_

“Yes. Very.” Ryan wasn’t sure why he’d found the need to mention it- but the whole _Brandon_ thing had been grating on him over the last few days since he’d prodded the bear and got a deafening roar of conspiracy in return. Brandon was incredibly pompous and overconfident, Ryan assumed due to his high position in the tower. Understandably, it irked him. “Maybe he should be referred to somebody to talk about his issues or… I don’t know, get a brain scan or something. Just… write this down and pass on my concerns, would you?”

“ _Of course, Sir. Hope you feel better soon.”_

* * *

 

 

Ryan didn’t leave the Tower for the rest of the day. He lounged in bed a little while longer, before fixing himself a shoddy attempt at a turkey sandwich with the slowly decaying assortment of produce he had in his fridge (he’d set a reminder to go shopping, which had been blaring on the electronic fridge’s note-screen for the last four days). After that, he headed to the Tower gym on floor seventeen and worked out for two straight hours.

The gym was beautiful. It was easily one of Ryan’s favourite floors in the Tower, with fancy, shiny equipment and free membership for residents on and above floor twenty-three. This made him feel a little better about himself, pushing thoughts of _Brandon Farmihini_ far out of his mind as he surrounded himself with other people on floors just like his, all standing in tandem, placing one foot after the other on the treadmill.

After a quick shower, Ryan returned to his apartment pulled his journal from his gym bag. It was a mental exercise- a habit that the shrink he’d sacked off seeing a few years ago had introduced him to that he hadn’t been able to shake. It was quite soothing actually, going over the details of his day in note form. It was nice, to be able to simply flick back through the pages of the small, leather-bound notebook and be absolutely certain of his own whereabouts on certain days. That was sometimes something that he sometimes found hard to keep track of, when things got bad.

He was reading over his entry from the day previous, smiling fondly to himself at the sketch he’d crafted of Ray’s beautiful eyes, large and unblinking underneath the paragraph where he’d described the party in vivid, poetic detail. Then, a knock at the door distracted him, and he slipped the book back underneath the pillow on his bed where it was kept.

He opened the front door unexpecting, ready to hear someone else drone on about oversized trash bags or new regulations on electricity consumption- but he was happily surprised to instead see Ray on his doorstep, brown eyes sparkling, curly hair mussed, smile small and coy.

“Why didn’t you knock?” he asked. Ryan’s face dropped into a puzzled frown.

“Knock? This is my apartment?”

Ray rolled his eyes. “I meant my place. You didn’t come up and see me.”

Still very confused, Ryan did his best to relax the frown on his face in favour of a slightly squint. He was still holding the door open, but Ray hadn’t made a move to step inside. “I-was I… meant to?” he asked, unsure. Thankfully, Ray seemed nothing but amused by his awkwardness.

“Of course you were meant to.” He grinned. “Now c’mon. Michael and Gavin are having Swimmy Bevs and I don’t want to be the only sober one.”

Ryan didn’t have the chance to ask what _Swimmy Bevs_ was, but it did describe Ray’s attire- loose red swimming shorts that brushed his knees and a tight fitting white t-shirt. It was like a half-assed _Baywatch_ wet dream come to life, but Ryan found that Ray wore the whole look better whilst trying less than half as hard. He was captivated by the brightness of the scarlet that clung to his legs, and found that despite Ray’s shoddy attempt at conversation he couldn’t bring himself to say a single word in response.

They made it to the pool, one area of the Tower that Ryan had yet to frequent, and the moment Ray pushed one of the double doors open they were assaulted by a wall of noise. The room was packed by the type of families that Ryan recognised as the ones who wandered the supermarket looking vaguely concerned as the prices of fruit rising exponentially. Their screaming kids jumped and hollered and splashed their way around the water, and just at the edge was a passively happy looking Gavin with his arms wrapped around a rambunctious, soaking wet Michael, who was currently trying to tickle Gavin’s ribcage before forcing him under the water. Gavin came up with a squeak, before pushing Michael back, which lead to his boyfriend diving under the water and swimming under his legs, before lifting him up onto his shoulders.

“That’s the baby.” Ray pointed to a small, plastic container with a tap that sat by the corner of the pool Michael, Gavin and some others that Ryan recognised from the party were dwelling in.

“The baby?”

“Yeah. It’s full of booze, Michael calls it the baby- don’t ask why. They get drunk and… swim.” He shrugged. “I don’t really do the drinking part and I know you don’t either so I thought… maybe you’d like to be my sober buddy?” he looked strangely hopeful- Ryan had yet to see Ray be unsure about anything, and suddenly the heat of the pool and the bodies made him sweat under the collar of his suit. Michael threw Gavin back off of his shoulders into the water when he attempted to stagger forwards and they both went tumbling into the drink. Michael came up a second after Gavin, and shook his head side to side like a dog, water flying all around them.

“I-uh-sure.” Ryan stuttered, loosening his tie. Ray grinned, before yanking his t-shirt up above his head and dumbing it onto a nearby sun lounger.

“Cool.” He shrugged, before taking a running jump into the pool, glasses still on. He bombed his way between Michael and Gavin, covering them both in murky water. The sight made Ryan feel a little sick. There had to be at least twenty other people in the pool, mostly children. It couldn’t have been particularly hygienic. However, they all seemed to be having fun, playing around and splashing each other. Michael was drunk- Ryan was sure of that now by the clouded look in his eyes- but he wasn’t behaving angry nor petulant. He looked quite happy, for once, pulling Gavin as close to him as possible whenever he could, dropping kisses to his wrinkled lips and dry, tired skin. Then, Ryan watched as Michael reached over and pulled Ray under his arm, placing a wet kiss to his stubbly cheek as Ray tried to swim away and Gavin laughed on at the struggle.

Ryan certainly wasn’t dressed for the pool- but he was sure it wouldn’t take too long to rush back upstairs and change before running back down and jumping in beside the set of people he was starting to look at as potential friends. He turned to head to the doors, but was stopped by a hand, large and heavy gripping onto his shoulder from behind.

“Ryan Haywood?” a deep voice asked. Ryan turned around slowly and was faced with a large man, slightly taller than himself and nearly twice as broad, with thick red hair on his head and a wiry, impressive beard. His eyes were small, almond shaped, surrounded by thin rimmed glasses. His stare was deathly serious.

“Uh… yes- that’s me? Can I help you?” Ryan stumbled over his words. The man nodded, stoic.

“I’m Jack Pattillo.” He said. “Mr Ramsey would like to see you.”

Ryan frowned. “Huh? Who?”

“Follow me, sir.”

Jack Pattillo, a man whose suit was at least twice as expensive as Ryan’s and who’s wired earpiece buzzed the entire time throughout their journey, quietly disturbed Ryan. The corridors he was led through stretched and wound to the point where Ryan wondered if he was even still in the Tower at all- but then, he supposed it had been designed to be confusing. Clearly wherever he was being led was not a place _Mr Ramsey_ wanted him to revisit alone.

Eventually, they came to halt at an elevator made entirely out of mirrored glass. Ryan frowned recalling a story he’d read as a child about a madman who owned one not dissimilar. Jack didn’t seem bothered by it- he just pressed the button marked _penthouse_ that was completely unfamiliar to Ryan, as he was sure it was not ever present on the standard elevators in the building.

“Won’t it… you know, shatter?” he asked as the box shot up, fast enough to jolt slightly and make him stumble. Jack remained completely still.

“No.”

They didn’t talk after that.

When the time came for the elevator doors to open again, Ryan’s entire body stiffened.

It was like stepping into another world, that first press of his work shoes on plush, cream carpet. The room was giant, a true _penthouse_ apartment the likes of which he’d only ever seen in foreign mafia movies and magazine spreads. In the centre of the ceiling hung the largest chandelier Ryan had ever seen, illuminating and sparkling as the light from several fixtures posted on the walls caught against it. Not to mention that on the back was a giant, open veranda door, letting in beams of concentrated sunlight. The entire room _glowed_. A beautiful white marble fireplace housed a gas flame that shone a faint red. Ryan squinted at it- it couldn’t have been a real fire, not this high up, not _inside_ \- but the air had a slight edge of a smoky smell and the flames licked at each other, cracking and spitting. Gold and white lamé draped over the expensive-looking couches that sat facing the fireplace, and the curtains by the veranda door rippled ever so slightly as a still breeze flowed through from the outside. There was even a maid- an aging woman in a cream uniform, dusting the edge of a giant flat-screen television with distain in her eyes. Only then did Ryan realise that there was someone else in the room besides him and Jack, as he followed the old woman’s gaze to the couch, where the back of a head could be made out. Blonde hair, cut short but curled skilfully, the cream collar of what looked to be a plush bathrobe. A hand, covered in tattoos, delicately cradling a lit cigarette.

“That’s Mrs Ramsey.” Jack leant over and whispered, nodding to the faceless being. “But you’re not here to talk to her. Follow me.”

Ryan was speechless, but nodded as if he understood, allowing Jack to lead him out through the white curtains. What followed was a bigger shock than the first, as Ryan laid eyes on a beautiful, ornamental piece of a garden, simply sitting on the top floor of the place he _thought_ by now that he knew.

It was grass- possibly the umpteenth surprise of this visit. _Real_ , glowing green grass. It even _smelled_ like soil and fertiliser, and a stray few oriental trees were dotted throughout, along with plush hedges that ran across the perimeter. The garden itself seemed to stretch on for miles and miles, packed with bird-baths and benches and bushes of beautiful white roses and lilies. Then, off in the distance stood what looked to be a large, glass greenhouse.

“He’ll be in there.” Jack nodded, before closing his hands together. Ryan supposed they weren’t going any further together, and after brief hesitation, made the walk over. In the distance, he was sure he heard the faint whinnying of a pony- but no- that must’ve been his mind playing tricks. Nothing could be that ridiculous.

Despite the fact that the walls were entirely made of glass, and he could make out the man inside pretty well, sat at a desk sketching onto pieces of white paper, Ryan felt compelled to knock, rather than walking right in. He didn’t know this man- this _Ramsey_. He didn’t want to be rude.

The man looked up, and nodded for Ryan to enter.

As he pushed the door open, it became clear that music was playing. A soft, classical piece, piano only. Ryan supposed it was quite relaxing for whatever the man was working on. As he approached the desk, he squinted at the designs.

The man was sketching the Tower. Over and over he had sketched detailed drawings of the Tower, each and every one labelled with every constructive detail. The man himself was hunched over his latest piece, pencil hitting the paper audibly as he filled in each and every tiny square window with meticulous detail. The man himself wasn’t particularly impressive to look at- messy, thinning black hair, pale blue eyes, pale skin. Like the woman, he had tattoos, but Ryan couldn’t make them out all to well- only the glimpses of design poking out from the underneath of his soft hoodie. His dress was remarkably casual- casual to the point where Ryan felt overdressed in his work suit. He wore dark grey jeans, a dark t-shirt with an unfamiliar logo across the chest, the hoodie, sneakers. Ryan cleared his throat awkwardly, but the man didn’t look up.

Then, Ryan’s eyes followed past to the corner of the white desk, where a metal plaque was fixed: _Geoff Ramsey, Architect_.

“It isn’t finished.”

Ryan was startled from his musings by Ramsey’s scratchy voice. “Huh?”

“The Tower. If you had any, uh, gripes or complaints.” He muttered, eyes still fixed onto his drawings. Ryan looked at them again, noting just how many laid in the stack, some spread across the desk. Then he looked over to the wall in front of them, realising that pieces of paper with Tower designs covered almost every inch. “I’m not done yet so there’s bound to be… you know, kinks.” He shrugged, fairly nonchalant. “I’m working on it.”

“Right,” Ryan nodded awkwardly. “It’s… uh, very impressive. Really. Your garden is beautiful.”

At that, Geoff stopped drawing. A small, coy smile crossed his features, and he looked up, looking _at_ Ryan for the first time. His soft gaze was harrowing, cold, assaulting of the senses. Ryan stepped backwards slightly.

“Thank you.” He nodded. “That, I can only take partial credit for. I designed it… but all with my beautiful wife Griffon’s vision. I wanted to make something just as beautiful as her so- here it is- my attempt at least. Her very own _Garden_ _of_ _Eden_.”

“On the thirtieth floor?” Ryan chuckled. Geoff raised an eyebrow. The smirk remained.

“Common misconception.” He said. “This Tower actually has thirty-two floors, but only one to thirty are labelled-”

“-numerically, yeah I heard.” Ryan nodded, looking around the small space again. Despite the glass walls letting in plenty of natural sunlight, Geoff still had white light fixtures adorning the ceiling of his greenhouse, giving the whole room a clean, clinical feel. “The floor under this one is floor zero. The penthouse isn’t labelled at all.”

At that, Geoff leaned back slightly. He was still smirking- still after all that, his mouth hadn’t moved, but his expression changed. He furrowed his brow.

“Well, aren’t you observant.”

“Actually someone was telling me-”

“-Do you golf?” he stood up suddenly, pushing away from the desk, work abandoned. “We should golf together!”

Ryan frowned. He watched silently as Geoff made his way over to the door of the greenhouse, hands in the pocket of his hoodie, and after a beat, followed.

“There’s a golf course here?”

The coy smirk returned.

“There are many things hidden in this Tower, Mr Haywood. A golf course is the least you should be worried about. How’s Tuesday for you?” he asked, looking out across the garden at nothing in particular. Ryan tried to follow his gaze, but the sun pieced his eyes, burning faintly. He looked away, but Geoff did not. He didn’t seem affected at all.

“I… can make Tuesday?”

“Excellent.” Geoff nodded, pleased. “Also, uh, Griffon is throwing a party tomorrow night. Full of the sorts of people you should be meeting if you want to make something of yourself here. Come along, if you’d like.”

Unsure of what else he really could do, Ryan nodded. Geoff smiled, and then turned without further word, headed back into his greenhouse. Ryan took the hint and did not follow.

 

* * *

 

 

 

The night was cool, but not unpleasantly so. A faint, barely perceptible breeze ran along the edges of Ray’s balcony on the twenty-sixth floor and ruffled the slight curl of his hair, which had grown considerably longer in the few weeks since they’d first seen each other. Ryan supposed the barbershop on the fourteenth floor was struggling with flickering power shortages just as much as everyone else who lived below twenty-two. He himself hadn’t even thought about a haircut in weeks. Split ends brushed the back of his neck and his shoulders. Ray seemed to like it however, and reached over to play with the ends an hour or so into what Ryan was really, _really_ hoping to be a date.

They’d had dinner. Ray had cooked- sort of. It was just ramen. Ryan savoured every mouthful it like it was a five-star meal.

“I met the architect yesterday.” He said. They’d been sitting in silence for a little while, which wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but wasn’t enjoyable either. Ryan knew he made a shitty date, but he couldn’t help it. Ray made him incredibly nervous, sitting just diagonal from him at the small table, lit cigarette between plush lips, vacant expression. Ryan had to try for something, and so far, everyone else he’s spoken to had been quite impressed with the architect story.

Ray hardly raised an eyebrow.

“How is Geoff?” he took a drag, exhaling smoke across the table. Ryan felt his chest tighten slightly.

“Oh, so you know him?”

Ray shrugged, eyes fixed on his empty plate. “I know a lot of people.”

Awkwardly, Ryan gave a slow nod. “Ri-right.” He pushed his empty plate away from him slightly, and reached to sip from his glass of water. Ray was drinking Dr Pepper. “The, uh- his place is pretty nice.”

“Do you want to have sex with me, Ryan?”

Ryan choked. Ray was making eye contact now, eyes as large and round as chocolate truffles. He wasn’t don’t anything particularly _seductive_ as he crushed his cigarette out in the clear ashtray that sat atop the table, leaning forward slightly. Ryan caught a glimpse at a bruise on his collarbone underneath his t-shirt.

“Well. Do you?”

“Do _you_?” Ryan asked. He wasn’t sure what Ray was trying. He was never sure about anything when Ray was around, it seemed. Of course, it was entirely possible that he was completely serious. It was also entirely possible that the whole thing was just an elaborate test designed to trick him into saying or doing something very, very stupid.

A coy smile crossed Ray’s lips. Strangely, Ryan felt reminded of Geoff Ramsey.

Ray moved forwards in one, fluid movement that Ryan didn’t entirely understand. It was as if one second Ray was sat in the metal chair in front of him, knees drawn up to his chest and then the next, he was straddling his lap. They were kissing- Ray was unbuttoning his pants. Ray was out of his lap, sinking to his knees. Ray-

-yep, Ray was _blowing_ him.

The whole situation was incredibly surreal, and Ryan had to focus a lot to keep his mind grounded as his body was entirely overwhelmed by the feeling of a hot mouth and wet tongue. Ray, as it seemed, _really_ knew what he was doing. His hair was also far softer than it looked, as Ryan kneaded hands through it when Ray’s mouth slid up and down the length of his cock with a rehearsed ease and an edge of professionalism.

“You’re amazing.” Ryan felt the words flow from his mouth in space of a breathy moan, and Ray eased off him, smiling widely.

“Do you wanna fuck me?” he asked, plainly. Ryan’s heartbeat went into overdrive. He almost came from the idea alone.

It wasn’t long until he had Ray, right there on the table, dishes thrown to the floor. Ray had been pretty hasty, after having to leave Ryan for a few short minutes to grab some lube. He didn’t bring a condom. Ryan didn’t ask for one. They hadn’t even bothered getting undressed- the night’s coldness finally beginning to set in as Ryan got his first slide inside of Ray, who was bent over the table with his face pressed into the cool metal, ass in the air. It was pure bliss; heaven; eternity. Ryan felt things he’d never felt before- not just in his dick, but his entire body, which was tingling from the tips of his overgrown hair to his toes. Ray was magical, unexplainable, ethereal.

“ _Fuck_ , you know, uh- _yeah, shit_ , Geoff must, uh, really like you to invite you upstairs.” Ray panted as Ryan railed into him from behind, each thrust sending his thighs smacking against the edge of the table. Ryan figured that couldn’t be comfortable, and lifted him up, before turning him onto his back and climbing onto the table over him. He figured it had taken their weight all night, a little push more couldn’t do any harm. Ray didn’t seem to object, aching his back so his hips canted up, pushing against the snap of Ryan’s hips to create maximum thrust. His moans were shrill, ridiculously loud, and Ryan felt himself blush. People on the balconies just one room over could probably hear them. Shit, the people upstairs and downstairs could probably hear them. He drove his hips into Ray’s at a certain angle, and the boy arched his back and _screamed_. Ryan figured he’d found the sweet spot. Even _Geoff Ramsey_ could probably have heard that.

“-it’s weird really - _fuck-_ he isn’t keen on new people.”

Ryan frowned, trying to focus on the rhythm they’d created, whilst searching for Ray’s prostate again after he’d slipped away from it.

“Huh?”

“Geoff-” Oh, so Ray still wanted to talk about _Geoff_. For someone so coy, quiet and mysterious, he was awful talkative during sex. Ryan found it a little off-putting. He was _really_ trying to focus on giving Ray even a fraction of the euphoria he was feeling, not menial conversation about his encounter with the building’s architect.

“He hasn’t even left the penthouse since the Tower was opened.” Ray continued. Ryan bit his lip- once again, Ray had piqued his curiosity. He could only wish it was in different circumstances.

“You really know Geoff?”

Ray shrugged his shoulders again, before blindly, Ryan found his prostate again and his back arched off the table. “He knows me.” he panted. “ _Fucking_ hell Ryan, right there- Jesus, you’re so good at this. Oh _god_ , you’re _everything_.”

“You seem to know everyone here.” Okay, now Ryan had to admit that Ray _was_ intriguing him. Ray, who was pushing back at his thighs, shoving him backwards. Ryan stilled his movements and for a second just stood, trousers awkwardly around his ankles, still as confused as the moment they’d started. His confusion eased, however, when Ray stood up too, pushing him down into the chair before sliding himself back into his lap.

Ray pumped his cock a few times with his hand, before reaching behind himself to align them together again. Then, without hesitation, he sunk down onto Ryan’s length, and wound his arms behind Ryan’s shoulders.

“Yeah, but not everyone knows me.” he was breathy, and his thighs shook as he clenched them, raising himself up before slamming back down. Ryan tiled his head back against the chair. _This_ , was overstimulation at its best. Ray’s tight, wet, velvet heat was _intoxicating_. “That’s the game.”

“There’s a social hierarchy in this Tower,” Ray was smiling, teasing rolls of his hips and slight bucks upwards driving Ryan insane. If he’d had things his way, Ray would be bent over the edge of the balcony right now, taking every inch Ryan had to give until they were both coming, together, tumbling over the edge into uncertain death. Ray had other plans. “Geoff’s a bit of a liberal but- well, that’s his business. He can’t control everyone. Speaking of- do you know where I could get some sleeping pills?”

Ryan thought about the array of pill bottles that stocked his bathroom medicine cabinet, prescribed by his last therapist and the therapist before and the therapist before he decided therapy wasn’t for him. The bottles were still full.

“No.” he lied.

“What about your family Ryan?” Ray sped up his movements slightly, eyes drooping closed as he maintained a steady rhythm. Ryan was more conflicted than ever. _His family_? How had Ray known that was a rabbit hole he certainly didn’t want to tumble down. Not yet anyway. Ryan chose to say nothing, instead groaning loudly and gripping Ray’s hips hard enough to leave bruises. Ray smiled and licked at his dry lips.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I like talking about myself too much anyway.”

God- Ryan wasn’t going to last much longer. Somehow- beautifully, terribly, Ray just knew everything he liked. He was close. There wasn’t much time left.

“Stop talking.” He said instead, before lifting Ray into his arms completely, the two still connected where it counted. He pushed Ray, harshly, against the concrete wall of his own balcony and drove into him with such force, the loud moan that escaped from Ray’s mouth was equal parts pain and pleasure. Ryan softened his grip slightly. Ray only held on tighter.

“Jeez, you’re fucking _randy_ dude!” Ray giggled as Ryan’s pace only grew faster and sloppier. “You know, apparently, there’s a brothel hidden somewhere in his building. I can find out for you, y’know, so you can take care of all these _frustrations_ -”

“-I’d rather have you.” Ryan buried his head into the crook of Ray’s neck. He could feel it- his orgasm. It had been humming in his aching balls for the last minute or so. Just a few more thrusts and he’d be coming.

Fate had funny ways of intervening with that.

“Hmm… Ray?”

Ray and Ryan both turned to look as the balcony door slid open and an (even in Ryan’s very unprofessional opinion) exhausted-looking Gavin stumbled out to greet them. His eyes were drooping heavily, like he could barely keep them open, movements sluggish. His skin was dry and flaking. Ray sighed, and wriggled out of Ryan’s grasp until his feet touched the floor.

“Ray… when are you coming down?”

Ray rushed back over to the table to grab his pants, slipping them on quickly. Ryan, realising he was just standing stock still, hard and half naked, tucked himself away and did up his trousers. Gavin hadn’t seemed to notice either of them- or if he had, chose not to even react.

“In a minute Gav.” Ray reached over and touched his friend’s face softly. “Just, wait for me downstairs. I’ll be out in just a minute.”

Once Gavin was gone, Ray ran his fingers thought his hair. He reached down and picked up the chipped, empty dishes that had been so carelessly cast aside. Ryan’s cock was all but throbbing in the constraints of his clothes. Fucking _Gavin_.

“Are… are we finished here?” he asked, more confused than ever as Ray slid the balcony doors back open and headed inside. “Are we not doing…?”

“It’s already done.” Ray turned and shot him a filthy, glowing grin. “You can see yourself out, and hey- knock?”

Then, Ray blew him a childish kiss before darting inside the apartment, leaving Ryan outside, sensationally puzzled and sexually frustrated to a level he’d never even felt in all thirty-four years of his life. He knew he could just rush home and jerk off- but then, that wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as the experience he’d just shared with Ray. God- Ryan didn’t think any sexual experience in his _life_ had ever come comparably close to that. It was both the strangest and most arousing circumstance he’d ever found himself in.

And now, it was over.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, with his evening with Ray still dwelling in the forefront of Ryan’s mind, he took a trip down to the supermarket. It wasn’t somewhere he went often in the daytime- he preferred late evening shopping, or in the early hours of the morning when only a handful of other residents were around to bump into. Ryan wasn’t exactly the most sociable person. He didn’t like crowds.

Halfway through debating over _raisin bran_ or _frosted flakes_ in the immaculately arranged cereal aisle (it was almost _jarring_ how perfectly arranged the cereal boxes were in straight lines. Did people hide around the corners, ready to replace them the moment one was picked up? He couldn’t understand how the small group of staff kept the store so tidy when it was busy like this) a woman brushed past him. She was wearing a dress that was far too formal to be appropriate for a supermarket at two PM. It was white, flowing, and a train followed her as she moved gracefully through the aisles. Her hair was a vibrant blue, tumbling in curls down her shoulders. Neat glasses sat over her eyes, resting on the tip of her nose. They didn’t hide the dark circles- but certainly distracted from them. A thick pearl necklace sat heavy around her collarbone, and upon glancing at her shopping cart, Ryan could already deduce that she owned a dog, possibly several cats, and was on a low-fat diet.

His staring didn’t go unnoticed. She immediately looked up from her own cereal inspection (she’d been meticulously studying the nutritional information on a box of _oatmeal_ for the last minute or so) and beamed a smile at him.

“Oh, my apologies.” She laughed, voice syrupy and musical. “You must want my autograph.”

Ryan froze slightly. That hadn’t been what he expected at all when catching eyes with the pretty girl across the aisle. He was certain he had no idea who she was.

“Uh…. No?” he said, awkwardly, mentally kicking himself. Her face deflated considerably, neatly plucked brows knitting into a frown. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered. “Just, uh… I- I don’t know who you are.”

“You don’t- _what_?!” she cried, suddenly quite hysterical. She through the oatmeal in the air, and the seal of the box split. Oats splashed across the floor, but she didn’t pay it a single notice. The box hit the floor with a light thud. “I- how dare- what- how could-” every sentence was unfinished, a mumble through tears as she pushed her way out of the isle in a rush, disappearing around the corner. Ryan only felt puzzled, stomach sinking into his gut. He finished up the rest of his grocery shopping fairly quickly, keeping an extra eye out for the strange woman in the narrow aisles.

The girl at the checkout was called _Mariel_ according to her name-tag. Her face was flat, fallen. She looked about as excited to be there as he did.

As his items were scanned, Ryan’s eyes followed across the supermarket until he spotted the woman again. She was stood with two young girls, clutching photographs and pens. Mascara was still staining her cheeks from the way she had cried earlier- but neither apparently commented on it as the woman beamed, one hand on her heart, and reached forwards to sign the photos. Ryan frowned as he watched her.

“Excuse me,” he said to the cashier girl. “Who is that woman?”

Mariel’s eyes flicked over briefly, before turning back to the cash register.

“Oh that?” she asked, dark eyes sparkling with something mischievous and unreadable. “That’s Meg Turney.” When he only gave a blank expression in response, she continued, curtly “You know…the _actress_? She moved here to research a new part.” As she talked, she lifted the few groceries that Ryan had actually been able to decide on into two sturdy paper bags.

“Oh really?” Ryan reached into his pocket, and pressed a few dollar bills into her hands before lifting the bags into his arms. “What’s the part?”

Mariel didn’t look over at him, but a smirk was sat on her face as she worked the clunky till. “Yeah, really.” She said, handing over his change. Then, and only then, did she look up and make eye contact. Her eyes reminded Ryan of Ray’s, with their suffocating darkness.

“She’s playing a sad and lonely actress who lives all alone in a Tower block and goes insane.”

 

* * *

 

 

The night of Geoff’s party rolled around far too quickly. Ryan couldn’t recall ever once receiving a formal invitation with details of the time and date, just that one morning he had woken up, usual time and noticed the alert in the corner of his interactive mirror. _PARTY. PENTHOUSE. 9PM._

After working half his usual shift and leaving work early with a half-assed lie about feeling unwell, Ryan spent a few more hours in the Tower gym. The treadmills were down due to the power fluxuations, but the rowing machines were free. That would have to do for now.

Ryan then stopped by in the Tower supermarket to pick up a bottle of wine. He wasn’t sure if the party was a bring-a-bottle kind of affair, but he supposed it was better to be safe than sorry. After all, he certainly wouldn’t be the one drinking it.

He saw Michael, roaming the aisles alone and ducked quickly behind a nearby shelf so the two wouldn’t see each other. Ryan hadn’t seen Michael since the day of the pool incident. The day he’d met Geoff Ramsey for the first time. It was odd, seeing him without Gavin attached to his hip. Thinking about Gavin, sleepy and hollow, only then made him think of Ray, and the strange night they’d spent together. He hadn’t seen either since.

A plain grey button down and pressed trousers seemed like decent party attire, but Ryan didn’t exactly feel comfortable as he traced the halls from memory, leading to the secret elevator that would take him up to the penthouse. The rocky journey, punctuated by the elevator stilling and flickering a few times, gave him plenty of time to stare at his reflection in the mirrored walls. One neat crack ran down one of the panels, and Ryan stared as his face was splintered into two separate pieces.

He closed his top button. The elevator doors slid open behind him.

When Ryan turned and took in the spectacle before him, he had to stop for a second and take a breath. It felt like that ridiculous, garish glass elevator had transformed into some kind of portal and he’d been tossed into a time period reminiscent of the 1920s. All the women flitted about the rooms with false smiles and sleek, bobbed wigs, flapper dresses beaded with sparkling jewels that came alive every time their bodies moved. The men were all dressed almost identically, in black, sleek tuxedos with silken bowties and hair so slicked down that it looked wet to touch. Lit cigarettes hovered between everyone’s slender fingers and jazz music roared from the overhead speakers. Ryan spotted a structure in one corner of the room that appeared to be a water feature- only people were approaching it with flutes and then guzzling down the shimmering liquid like they hadn’t drank in years. It was a champagne fountain. He was almost _certain_ that it was a champagne fountain.

It didn’t help that he clearly hadn’t gotten the memo about the 1920s revival theme, and stood out like a sore thumb in his button down and trousers combination. Geoff Ramsey was nowhere to be seen, but Ryan did spot his wife- her blonde hair feathered and glowing underneath the chandelier as the short, sparkling black dress she wore made her appear like a fluttering spirit in the centre of the dancefloor, arms outstretched and head thrown back, eyes shut tightly as the crowd marvelled around her.

Then Ryan realised he’d been standing completely still in the elevator for the last five minutes or so. No wonder people were staring. Awkwardly, he took a step into the room and tried to ignore the way, one-by-one, the stares turned into confused glares. He didn’t belong there- and everyone knew it.

“Who the fuck invited you?” Ryan turned to see a pair of small round, black sunglasses, sparkling under the lights. Then, they slid down a flat nose and Ryan recognised the eyes behind them to be those of _Brandon Farmihini_ , clad in a white tuxedo jacket and black trousers, martini in hand.

Ryan gulped, “Geoff Ramsey.”

The group Brandon has been stood talking to all turned and looked over to him at once. It was two women, one blonde and one with stark red hair. There was another few men. Ryan didn’t recognise a single one of them, never having seen them around the Tower before.

The blonde woman frowned, her eyes taking him in inch by inch. The dress she wore was white, with glowing emerald accents to each of the dangling crystals. However- no jewel compared to the one worn on her face, a glowing diamond screwed into her left nostril.

“Must be another one of Geoff’s little… social experiments.” She said, just slightly disapprovingly, before taking a step forwards. One delicate finger came out and brushed across the material covering his chest “Although… the last few haven’t been nearly as captivating to the eye as you are.”

“Quit perving Ashley,” the redhead laughed, cruelly. “if Burnie hears, he’ll be over to have words.”

“He should be so lucky.” Her smirk was coy, and the two laughed, like they were in on some sort of joke that the others didn’t know about. Brandon just looked vaguely annoyed at Ryan’s continued presence, glare condescendingly light.

“Yeah- because his last little pet project has been going so well, remember, Lindsay?”

Lindsay, the redhead, rolled her eyes. “How could I forget?”

Before Ryan could question what either of them meant, Brandon slid his sunglasses back up his face and walked away. The group followed him, all enveloped in their same continuous hum of judgemental conversation. They didn’t bother looking back to check how he felt about being left so cruelly.

He wandered over in the direction of the buffet table, that had been put out with an array of snacks. However, several of the plates had been broken, food spilling out onto the expensive looking table cloth, irreversible stains left in their wake. Glasses were dotted all across the apartment- Ryan stepped on at least three on his way over until he came to the champagne fountain.

Beside it, he saw a familiar face. It was Meg Turney, blood red cocktail in her hand. She was poking about on the buffet table, picking hors d’ourves up, frowning, and placing them back down. Not once did a single article of food touch her lips. Ryan watched her for a good five minutes or so before she noticed him, stilling her movements before looking up at him with a coy smile.

“Don’t drink the champagne fountain.” She said. “I washed my hands in it an hour ago.”

They both turned and looked at the ornament. A few drunken guests stumbled over and dipped their glasses in. Meg giggled, and even Ryan cracked a smile- his first of the night. He set the wine bottle down on the buffet table.

“I’m sorry about what happened in the supermarket, the other day-” he began his apology, paragraphs of prose pre-written in the hours since their altercation slipping out, sentence by sentence. Truly, he was quite captivated by this girl, and was beyond interested to get to know her better. It was rare that Ryan met people that he found so interesting- but since moving into the Tower, it was like God had collected all the people he desired to study the most and shoved them all into one pit, rubbing His almighty hands and waiting to see how they would interact with each other.

He was interrupted by a heavy hand on his shoulder, before it moved, and grabbing him roughly by the edge of his collar. Ryan was span around and met face-to-face with a tuxedo-clad _Jack Pattillo_ , a raging frown pulling at his mouth.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he asked gruffly, and before Ryan could reply, he felt himself be dragged back across the party, until Jack tossed him so roughly into the elevator that he felt the crack in the glass splinter as he bumped his head against it. When he turned and looked at the damage, the faintest drops of blood clung to the splinters.

“Jack, what the-”

“-Go home, Ryan.” Jack stabbed the button to his floor angrily, and Ryan could do nothing but watch speechlessly as the doors slid closed.

He should’ve stayed at home. He should’ve gone up and knocked at Ray’s, perhaps hung out with him for the night. Even if Gavin would insist on interrupting them every five minutes- anything else had to be better than this: bleeding lightly from the back of the head in a mirrored, glass elevator as the lights flickered and dimmed.

Ryan pressed his back against the glass and slowly sank to the floor, until he was sat in the corner of the tiny room. The lights flickered one more time before an enormous screech let out, and the entire elevator jerked.

 _Perfect_ he thought. _Now I’m stuck in the fucking elevator._

 

 


	3. part three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan and Geoff play golf. Michael causes trouble. Ryan makes a series of regrettable decisions.

 

PART THREE

 

 

 

 ** _TUESDAY_** The vibrant, red lettering that glowed on his mirror read when Ryan stumbled out of bed at one in the afternoon. For some reason, his alarm hadn’t even attempted to wake him in the morning for work. **_GOLF WITH THE ARCHITECT. FLOOR ZERO._**

As Ryan walked out of the elevator and into the corridors of the ever-elusive floor zero, it felt as if he was stepping into an alternate dimension. These corridors didn’t look anything like the ones he was used to. Sure, the lower living floors were dingy and dark in comparison to the kind of corridors that led to his or Ray’s apartment, but this place made his humble floor twenty-six look like floor nineteen! Everything was incredibly light and had an open feel to it despite the lack of windows- cream walls with light wooden fixings and sleek, metal doors standing along them. Every door was numbered in bright white font, stark numbers reading _006, 007, 008, 009._ Ryan stopped out of _009_ for a second and stared, unsettled. He couldn’t recall why.

There was a sign at the end of the corridor that helped navigate the rest of the floor. Unlike lower levels, which could house up to twenty apartments with twenty families worth of people, this floor only had ten. That left a lot of open space for, say, a mini-golf course, leading off to the right. Also, apparently, if he’d chosen to turn left, he’d run into a members-only spa.

Geoff was already waiting for him at the first hole- a relatively simple drawbridge mechanism, two putters in his hands and a bright blue ball at his feet. He smiled, and Ryan noticed for the first time the fairly impressive moustache he was sprouting. It was still between growing stages- but the entire creature bounced as he grinned.

“Ryan! How are you! How’s the head?” he grimaced slightly, holding out the putter, which Ryan accepted cautiously. “Heard about all that- don’t worry, I gave Jack quite a talking too about being so… impolite. I forgot to tell him I’d invited you. Sorry, again.”

“All better now.” Ryan touched the back of his head awkwardly. In all honestly, he’d forgotten he was ever injured. No wonder he’d stumbled into bed and slept for fourteen hours the next day. He was probably concussed. “Thanks for asking… and apologising, I guess. It wasn’t your fault.”

“How long were you stuck in that elevator anyway?” Geoff rolled the ball to the starting point, and after some brief stretching, sailed it over the top of the bridge, and directly into the hole. Ryan raised his eyebrows. The stroke was quite impressive, for a game designed for children.

“Only an hour or so. Maintenance got the power back into it and then it… took me straight home.” He replied, watching as Geoff walked over to the hole, fishing the ball out before rolling it back over the course, where it stopped at Ryan’s feet. He aligned it with the starting point, and took a pathetic swing. It rolled hallway up the bridge before tumbling back down. Geoff pulled a small notebook out of the back of his pocket along with a short pencil.

“That’s a one for me… and- well, it’s a par two I’m afraid. So unless you make the whole thing in this next shot, you’re going to be over-par on the first hole. No beginners luck in mini-golf I’m afraid.” He whistled lowly, and Ryan’s grip on the putter tightened. He hit the ball harder this time and it launched itself over the bridge like a rocket, before hitting the edge of the mini golf structure and rolling back, stopping just short of the hole. Ryan marched over and tapped it in. Geoff tutted and the pencil could be heard making quick strokes over the paper.

They played a few more holes and it was more of the same. Geoff, for some reason, was incredibly skilled with a child-sized golf club and was considerably under-par by the time they made it round to hole seven. Ryan hadn’t been so lucky so far, and was nine strokes over.

“I’m sorry again about all that elevator stuff- and if you experience any other power problems, I… like I said, the building… she’s still got some teething problems. She’s still settling, you know?” Geoff mused stiffly as he watched Ryan try and fail to nail the timing for the windmill stroke.

“I’ve heard stories about brief power outages on the first twelve floors, and some friends of mine, floor twenty- they say it’s only getting dimmer down there by the day.” He replied through gritted teeth, as the ball hit the propeller for the second time and flew right back past the starting point.

“Like I said, teething problems.” Geoff shrugged causally, but he looked far from it- nervous and twitchy. “We’re working through it. Anyway, enough building talk. I hear you’re fucking 2607?”

This time, the ball sailed through the gap between the windmill arms and sailed through the other side, directly into the hole. Ryan didn’t move to follow it, instead staring at Geoff blankly until it clicked. _2607\. Ray’s apartment_.

“His name is Ray- not that it’s any of your business.” He said curtly, marching around the windmill to pick up a ball so they could move onto the next hole. Geoff nodded.

“Yeah, Ray.” He said, but Ryan didn’t care for the wistfulness in his voice when he said it. Suddenly, he much preferred the coldness and anonymity of _2607_. But then- it was like Ray had said- everyone in the Tower knew him, or at least, thought they did.

Could that extend to the architect himself?

“Yeah… _Ray_. Cute little thing, if I recall correctly.” Geoff was grinning now, eyes cast upward as if recalling a fond, sordid memory. Ryan felt his stomach sink into his abdomen. His chest tightened, ribs aching as his heart doubled in speed. His grip on the putter only grew tighter with every word that poured from the mouth of their humble creator. “ _Tight_.” Ryan wanted to lift the club and send it crashing through his skull. “Oh, don’t worry- I understand.” Geoff waved a hand passively, completely unaware of Ryan’s impending implosion. “Natural urges and all. Ray’s a great piece to have for a little while, so long as you keep him entertained. Many have tried- not so many have succeeded, I’m afraid.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t talk about him like-” Ryan started to say, but as usual, he was interrupted. This time, it was by Geoff’s cell phone, blasting a loud, shrill ringtone. Geoff smiled at him politely, before turning his back and answering the call. Ryan bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

“ _Nope… well, I was actually playing mini golf…. Yeah, Ryan… well, no…. what?... again?... I swear to God Jack…. No- I understand…uh-huh…yeah, uh-huh…. Well, he can shove it up his ass!... yes tell him that…. okay, well…. no, I do understand…. Yep…. Mm-hmm…. I’m coming back now…. I’ll be there... okay…. Cool…. Bye_.” Ryan heard the faint beep as the call was cut off, and Geoff turned back to face him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, my friend, but this game is going to have to be cut short. We’ll reschedule.”

“Actually, Geoff-”

“-I’ve gotta go Ryan.” Geoff dropped his putter right there on the green, and took a step away. “I’ll see you around. We’ll talk!”

And that left Ryan, stood alone in the centre of an empty mini-golf course. It hadn’t occurred to him until now that not a single other soul was present. There wasn’t any kids running around the course- disgruntled adults waiting for the game to just end. There didn’t even seem to be anyone working there- to hand out the putters or the balls or _regulate_ anything.

And with Geoff gone, it was just Ryan. Alone. again.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Craving a touch of fresh air on his skin that wouldn’t inevitably lead to standing with a stiff neck after staring up at Ray’s balcony for half an hour, praying to catch just a glimpse of a black curl or a pair of glasses- Ryan headed down to the lobby. Sometimes it was nice to just stand outside the Tower’s main entrance- not being _inside_ but not being too far away either. He’d look out past full carpark, past the construction across the gravel pit and squint until he could see the horizon, just ahead of them.

However, when Ryan arrived in the main lobby, it was not a peaceful setting. There was a small mob, Michael Jones in the forefront with Gavin not far behind, gathered in an angry huddle as a man in a pair of green overalls stood on top of a chair and waved his hands, trying to calm the crowd down.

“Listen here, asshole!” Michael lunged forwards, dragging the man off the chair by the collar. “We want our fair share of the electricity! We all pay rent! We deserve the same resources the top floor people get!”

The cheering and hollering from the crowd was only egging Michael on and he gave the man one considerably powerful shake before Ryan caught eyes with a worried Gavin, and decided to make his way over. He was aware of just how volatile Michael could be when provoked, and he really didn’t want to see this small demonstration turn into a fistfight.

He yanked Michael back by the shoulders, and the boy turned with such a fierce glare that for a second, Ryan feared _he_ would be the one in a violent confrontation with the _Rage Quit Kid_ (he still had _no idea_ what that meant)- but when Michael laid eyes on him, his expression softened considerably.

“Hey. Let’s just… tone it down, yeah?” he looked from Michael to the startled, maintenance worked behind him. Michael glared at the man, but turned back to Ryan and nodded, before shrugging off his gentle touch. He looked over to Gavin.

“I’m going for a cigarette.” He mumbled, before marching out the double doors. Gavin sent a pained look in Ryan’s direction, so forlorn and laced with exhaustion that it made his chest ache. Great, so Gavin wanted him to _follow_ the maniac and make sure he was okay? And of course- Ryan was going to do it. He didn’t have anything better to do- nor a half-decent excuse.

When he made it outside, Michael was already there, lit cigarette between his lips and a fresh one in his hand, offered out to Ryan, who took it reluctantly. He didn’t smoke, and rolled the foreign object between his fingers thoughtfully. He knew it would probably be taken very offensively by Michael if he didn’t _attempt_ to smoke the cigarette, so he leant in as Michael lit a match and did his best to inhale without choking. Then, the two stood silently outside, leant against the pillars that held up the opening archway, and stared out across the gravel pit.

“It’s fucking bullshit man-” Michael was scuffing his toe across the ground, visibly frustrated. His face was set into a deep scowl as he sucked on his cigarette, exhaling smoke above their heads and into the atmosphere. “I mean, what kind of system is this? I’m seriously thinking about taking my complaints all the way to the top if something doesn’t get done soon.”

Ryan just sighed. His own cigarette lay idle between his fingers- but slowly, he was becoming accustom to the taste.

“It’s no use, Michael.” He said, bitterness seeping through his voice. “The architect won’t do anything. He doesn’t _care_.”

Michael’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve _met_ him?” he asked. Ryan just sighed.

“Yeah. He’s… well, he’s something. We played mini-golf.”

“Huh. You’ll have to bring me along sometime.” He flicked ash, but the movement was jerky, violent almost. “Ray too maybe- he likes mini-golf.”

At the mention of Ray, Ryan’s stomach squeezed itself. It’d been over a week since his game with Geoff, yet he still hadn’t been able to bring himself to make his way up to floor twenty-six. He had a thousand questions for Ray about his apparent relationship with the architect- but then, Ryan was and had always been a terrible coward when it came to potential confrontation.

“I’ll… think about it.” He said instead of just allowing the ever-flowing stream of consciousness to spill from his mouth into a messy puddle. There was a lot of things inside his brain that Michael Jones certainly did not need to know. Although, Ryan doubt he cared.

Michael didn’t seem to bothered his vague response much at all, and flicked his cigarette off into the distance, finished with it. Ryan observed silently before repeating the action.

“Hey,” Michael turned and looked at him for the first time. “Give me a ride to work?”

Ryan looked out into the carpark. Then, he squinted.

“I… uh, I would but… I can’t really remember where I parked my car?”

“Ha. That’s funny.” Michael’s shoulders shook in a half-laugh. “Me either.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It took him three hours, but the next day, Ryan did locate his car in the giant, swarming car park. He dusted off the flyers that had been pinned to the windshield wipers before slipping into the driver’s seat. It took him twenty minutes to move anywhere- because every time he adjusted the seat or the mirrors or attempted to pull his seatbelt, everything just felt _wrong_ and he’d have to start again. He eventually arrived at work, two hours after lunch, but hey- at least he’d shown up.

His assistant, Steffie, raised her eyebrows when she saw him walk into the office.

“Woah. You’re here?”

“I am.” Ryan nodded awkwardly, before taking a seat behind his desk. Had it really been _that long_ since he’d been to work? It was hard to keep track of time in the Tower. It wasn’t really the same as regular time- it passed in waves. Some minutes stretched on for hours. Some days flew by in minutes and they all just had a way of melting into each other, making it hard to keep track.

“I got that psych eval put through for Brandon.” She slipped a sheet of paper full of ticks onto his desk, and Ryan did his best to skim-read it, but the words blurred and made his eyes ache. “He’s fine. A little paranoid but- nothing to worry about.” She let out a small half-laugh, which Ryan stiffly parroted. “Actually, his attendance is pretty poor too. But… that’s up to corporate to battle with.”

“Right, good.”

“You live in the same building, right?” she asked and Ryan nodded. “The _Achievement Hunter Lifestyle Tower Complex._ I was reading about it online. Sounds awesome. What’s it like?”

Ryan looked up at her and something inside of him pulled tightly. Here was Steffie- so young and hopeful with her bright, sparkling eyes, asking him about the tower as if it was some magical, other-worldly place that could solve life’s problems. A place where people could _live_. Ryan didn’t feel like he’d _lived_ a single second in there.

“It’s…” his voice wavered a little. “Well, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.” She laughed, but Ryan didn’t find it very funny. “It’s prone to uh, narcissism, alcoholism, community, frequent power outages and something called a _Rage Quit_.”

“Wow. Sounds pretty exciting.”

Ryan swallowed thickly. “Never a dull moment.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He’d gone out for an anxious cigarette break in his car after a few hours of work (Michael’s habits really were, it was proving, quite addictive) and on his way back in, bumped into Brandon, who too looked antsy as he loitered around the building’s entrance.

“Watch where you’re going! Oh- Ryan.” he had on those pathetic sunglasses again, and the blackness hid the dark circles under his eyes excellently. He adjusted his tie awkwardly as Ryan stared at him. It was strange- like two ex-caged animals, so used to life in their enclosure, meeting again out in the wild.

“Sorry Brandon. Didn’t see you there.”

“Yeah well, look out next time.” He pulled at his blazer, straightening the lapels, irritated. “How’s… uh, things?”

“Things are… _good_ ,” Ryan nodded, but the inflection of his voice made it sound more like a question. How are _things_? What are a ridiculous question. Ryan hadn’t been sure of anything as concrete as such in weeks. “How about you?”

“Fine.” Brandon shrugged. “Oh- someone said you had my uh, _brain scan_ results.” He rolled his eyes behind the round lenses. “Total waste of fucking time in my opinion, I’m sure it was fine-”

“Yeah, well-”

“-oh, and did you hear?” a smug smile blossomed across his face. “I moved up! I’m on floor zero now, right under the penthouse. Apartment number 009.”

Ryan felt his teeth grind against each other harshly. It was still impossible to put a finger on exactly what it was that irked him so deeply about Brandon- but it existed and that was enough. Ryan let go for the first time in months, breathing sharply as rationale centre in his brain momentarily faltered, allowing for the clawing, jealousy-driven impulses to take over in their place.

“Actually Brandon, you might want to take it easy for a while. I saw your results and they were quite troubling. The doctors have some concerns they’re planning on addressing with you shortly. Apparently it’s a… well- they think it’s a _tumour_.”

Brandon’s face fell. Ryan bit back a smile.

“I can’t stop- I’ve got… uh, a meeting to get to. See you around, yeah?”

That left Brandon out in the cold, jaw dropped, one hand pressed against his chest tightly. For a second, Ryan thought he spotted tears lingering behind the lenses of his glasses, but quickly shook the thought off, sure he was sure he was just imagining it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Had it been a week? Ryan was staring at the calendar that hung on the wall of his kitchen, but every box was exactly the same: empty. None had any indication of date on them, let alone month or year. He looked around the apartment at the boxes which remained stacked, still not unpacked. They’d started to fold around the edges.

What was worse was that he’d actually been _losing_ time. If it wasn’t stressful enough the way all the days in the tower blended into one, he had to deal with opening his eyes and finding himself halfway through the action of a conscious person with absolutely no memory of how he’d gotten himself there. He couldn’t be sure how long anything was if he kept blacking out. He couldn’t be sure of much at all, these days.

Finding himself in a hallway on floor twenty was a little disorientating, and Ryan frowned when he looked at the peeling paint of the concrete walls and the trashbags that were piling up outside people’s doors. The lights were incredibly dim, and he had to squint as he heard a faint rumbling coming towards him. Reaching into the pocket of his blazer (had he been to work? Why was he always dressed so formally?) Ryan picked up his glasses and slipped them over his face.

They were just children, a small group of around twelve or so, rushing towards him. They were stampeding through the hall, screaming, laughing, shouting- and at the front of the pack, the biggest kid of all, was Mr Michael Jones.

“Equality is an illusion!” he screamed, almost rushing into Ryan before stopping completely, grabbing his face between two hands tightly, pressing their foreheads together. Ryan was too stunned to move, let alone protest. “Only through _equity_ will we truly know what it means to be civilised.” Michael told him, before he let go with a rough kiss on his stubbled cheek, and then off he went storming again, small band of children following along behind.

Frowning, Ryan decided to follow them. The trail of candy and wet, bare footprints lead him to the door of Michael and Gavin’s apartment, where the children were already gathered excitedly, slathering their faces and clothes in poster paints under Michael’s instruction as he stood before them atop a dining chair, bashing a metal pot with a wooden spoon, encouraging them to chant:

“ _ANARCHY IS LIBERATION. ANARCHY IS LIBERATION. ANARCHY IS **LIBERATION**_ ”

Gavin was stood by the fridge, glass of something dark in his hand, pressing two fingers to his forehead tiredly. Ray wasn’t far behind him, sat up on the kitchen counter, legs crossed. There was another man there, one Ryan hadn’t met before, who was short in stature and was fiddling with a camera whilst also egging the children on, just a little more half-heatedly than the eerily passionate Michael Jones. Ryan stepped into the apartment and winced at the sharp sound of the pan being hit over and over. Suddenly he understood why Gavin seemed so tired all the time. Michael was fucking _exhausting_ to be around for short amounts of time, let alone to live with.

“Hey, why don’t you cool it on the anti-class system stuff around the kids, Michael?”

“ _ANARCHY IS LIBERATION_!” Michael screamed in response, bashing the pot harder as the children laugh. “ _CHILDREN ARE THE FUTURE_.”

 Gavin groaned quietly, but the smile on his face when he looked over at Michael, triumphant stood atop his throne was wistful. Ray remained silent, but winked when Ryan made eye contact with him.

“Who are you to judge us?” Michael hopped down from the chair, prodding Ryan in the centre of the chest with the wooden spoon. His face had taken on a rather sinister look, and Ryan felt uncomfortable as a dozen tiny eyes flew to him, as well as the eager side eye he was receiving from both Ray and Gavin.

“What do you think Lil J?” Michael turned to look over his own shoulder, and the shorter man looked up. “I say Ryan here is a spy, sent from the tops to spy on us lowly bottom people.”

“Yeah,” ‘Lil J’ (f that was even his real name, which Ryan highly doubted) laughed. “He’s been sent down here to gain intel on what we actually know about their corrupted system.”

“Jesus,” Gavin sighed, rubbing his head as he rolled his eyes at Michael. “Can we come up with a better analogy than tops and bottoms?”

Michael shook his head. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Come on kids- let’s work on our war-paint.”

Free from scrutiny, Ryan waded through the arts and craft explosion and made his way over to the small kitchenette, standing awkwardly between Ray and Gavin, leant against the sink. Gavin took a large sip of his drink.

“Michael’s keeping the kids of our floor entertained as they’ve been banned from the pool.” He explained. Ryan frowned.

“Banned? Why?”

“Too noisy, innit?” As if on cue, one child let out a yell that could rival the howl of a wolf. “The top people don’t really like them much anyway. They’re a bit too grubby down here for them. I don’t think they even have kids up there.”

“it’s fucking bullshit!” None of them had been aware that Michael was listening in, and Gavin grimaced as he yelled as if the words had physically lashed out at him. “I say we fucking protest! What do you say kids- who wants to go swimming?”

The children cheered in response, but Ryan had to remind himself that they were only children and were therefore powerless to Michael’s aggressive charm. Michael went tearing out of the apartment like a bat out of hell, and in a short, chubby cluster, they followed, ‘Lil J’ (who Ryan was fifty percent sure he’d heard being called _Jeremey_ by one of the children) taking up the rear and picking up the littlest boy, who couldn’t run fast enough to keep up with the others. He was thrown around Jeremey’s shoulders, riding him like a bull as they vacated the apartment, leaving an assortment of paint stains and makeshift anarchist flags behind. Gavin sighed, and rushed over to the empty doorway.

“Michael, come back!” he called weakly, before taking another step into the hallway. “We don’t even know if all these children can swim!”

There was a few beats of silence, then a sigh, and then Gavin’s feet were hitting the floor, sound travelling further and further away. That left Ryan and Ray, alone for the first time since the balcony. Ryan leant back against the sink stiffly.

“Is it always like this on the lower floors?” he asked, looking around in distaste at the mess that had been created in Michael and Gavin’s apartment since he’d last visited. Ray let out a curt laugh.

“Recently? Yes.”

“I suppose I’m glad I never had kids then,” he scratched the hair behind his ears awkwardly. “Sounds awfully stressful, especially living here.”

“Does all your family all being dead bother you much, Haywood?”

Ryan stiffened. His blood ran cool. One hand gripped into a tight fist.

He asked, through gritted teeth- “And how could you possibly know something like that?” Ray just shrugged lazily, and uncrossed his legs. The backs of his sneakers hit the lower kitchen cabinets, over and over.

“Well where are they then? Way I see it, not much else makes sense.” He said, as if it was the most casual thing in the whole world. “Move to that big old apartment all alone with your moving boxes and lack of photographs. You never talk about any of them, so what- painful memories? Where are they, Ryan?” his eyes were shining as Ryan looked over, mouth pressed into a thin line. He looked beautiful, but Ray always looked beautiful. Ryan was starting to wish he could see through the façade. His mind was spinning. His mouth didn’t have time to catch up with reason.

“Probably the same place as your dad- and I am _so_ sorry I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

Ray was stunned into silence for a few short seconds. Then, awkwardly, he hopped down from the counter, and stepped away from Ryan, wandering over to the kitchen table. He picked up one of the kids drawings, and shook his head slightly.

“Maybe you should’ve gone with Michael and Gavin.”

Ryan wondered if there was a way he could make it up to Ray, and if so, could it be done soon. Something rang in the back of his mind- something Ray had asked of him a long time ago. He used to have- but were they still there? He certainly hadn’t been taking them.

Ryan reached into his inside pocket and found, much to his surprise, the prescription sleeping pills he’d been given by his last shrink before he quit therapy. He didn’t really have much use for them these days.

“Maybe you should’ve asked twice-”

“-huh?”  Ryan tossed the bottle over, and Ray caught them one handed without blinking. He turned the capsule over in his hands, read the back, and then grinned. Ryan had never seen him look so _happy_.

“Thanks man!” He rushed over, and hugged Ryan’s waist tightly. Then, he rested his head in the centre of Ryan’s chest, and all Ryan could think was how perfect it felt to have him there, and how perfectly their bodies fit together, stood up in the kitchen of Michael Jones’ apartment. “They’re actually for Gavin.” Ray continued. “He’s been really anxious recently and he has trouble sleeping when Michael’s off filming all hours of the night. This place makes him… I don’t know,” he trailed off, shrugging further into the embrace “…antsy.”

“Glad I could help.” Ryan’s arms came to wrap around him, hugging him back. “Am I forgiven?” he asked. Ray leant back to look him in the eyes.

“Of course.” He smiled, before tiptoeing up to kiss Ryan gently on the lips, turning the bottle over and over in his hands behind his back so the tiny white pills rattled and knocked together.

 

* * *

 

 

Later, Haywood would hear about the thrilling events of Michael’s epic stampede of children into the private party booked for the rich tops in the pool from Meg, who was wandering the halls in her pretty white swimsuit and expensive looking silk beach rap long after the party had been gate crashed. Ryan was just strolling home- he and Ray had more than made up for the time they’d missed out on together in Gavin’s kitchen and then 2607 had better things to do- places to go, people to see, so reluctantly Ryan slunk on home. It was as if Meg was waiting for him, looking anxious with a cigarette lit between her fingers. However, it seemed she hadn’t drawn it to her lips in several long minutes, as the ash had built up almost the entire length of the cigarette. The smell crept up his nose and Ryan inhaled it longingly.

“Animals.” She muttered when he asked how the pool party went. “They bombarded the pool fully clothed, made a mess and a dreadful amount of noise. The upstairs people certainly weren’t amused.” Then, tears gathered into her eyes, one spilling over the edge and down to her cheek. “My dog, Penny… she was in the pool when they arrived and now she’s-” she gasped, and more tears shed their way from her eyes, dripping onto the front of her swimsuit and down the curve of her breasts. “-it was all that brute, Michael jones’ fault! I’ll kill him!” she tossed the cigarette on the ground, and moved to stamp it out with her bare foot before Ryan lunged forwards, stopping her. Despite his contempt for the upstairs people as result of the few run-ins he’d had with them, he liked Meg quite a lot, and she found it easy to fall into his chest as Ray had earlier, clutching onto the back of his shirt and letting out a sob. Ryan just held her tightly, and the lights flickered around them before going out completely.

“What the-”

“Oh dear.” Meg took a step away from him, but in the darkness, he couldn’t make her out. “I should go.”

“Meg?” he whisper-shouted into the darkness, but it was too late. Meg was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Blindly, Ryan felt his way down the hall, towards the elevator. To his surprise, he found it was still working, doors creaking as they jolted open and buttons still faintly surrounded by a ring of dimmed lights. The elevator was screeching as it tunnelled through the narrow shaft- louder than it ever had before- but the doors still opened, shaking on floor twenty. The corridors were awash in the yellowish glow of candlelight, leading him like a breadcrumb trail to Michael and Gavin’s door. People were spilling out into the hallways, small foldable chairs and tables brought out of apartments and set up to mirror a picturesque Parisian side street. Ryan watched on, bewildered as people laughed and drank and smoked cigarettes together in these makeshift pockets of suburban living as if nothing was wrong. Jazz music was roaring from inside the apartment, and Ryan caught a glimpse of Michael, standing at the kitchen counter, doing a line of cocaine off some girls pocket-book.

Ray wasn’t there. Ryan knew this assumption to be fact the moment he discovered Gavin, face down on the living room sofa, fast asleep. There was no way Ray would’ve just left him like that, and after all, he wasn’t one for parties. In Gavin’s tightly closed fist was the pill bottle Ryan had tossed Ray only a few hours ago. The cap was swinging, open. Ryan reached forwards and closed it gently.

“Hey _RYAN_! Come party with me!” Michael’s voice was awfully grating, ushering him over from the kitchen. Ryan knew it was too late to back out- pretend as if he wasn’t there- never was- and go on home in the darkness. Michael had spotted him and Michael was drunk- so he probably wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Do a line with me! C’mon Rye, do it!”

“No thanks.” Ryan refused politely, for the third or so time. Michael had already talked him into drinking two and a half glasses of whiskey, he latter of which was burning his chest at that present moment. “Really, you go ahead.”

“Suit yourself.” Michael shrugged with that devilish, impish grin before leaning back down to the counter with the tightly rolled one-dollar bill. Ryan knew that things were tough down on the lower floors. He had no idea how Michael could afford such a luxury as cocaine yet he and Gavin could barely cover the rent and utility bills.

“Hey, where’s Gav?” Michael mumbled, dusting the excess off with the back of his hand, eyes narrowing as he peered around the room. “Rye? Where’s _Gavvy_ - _Wavvy_?”

Ryan nodded over to the couch, and Michael followed his gaze, before sighing.

“Fuck’s sake, okay, okay-” he swayed a little on his feet, before grabbing Ryan’s shirt tightly for support. “-it’s fine, let him sleep. Fuck- he needs it. He never sleeps these days.”

“You okay there buddy?”

“-I’m fine.” Michael snatched himself away from Ryan’s stability, before wobbling over to the centre of the room. Surprisingly, he managed to stay upright. Ryan eyed the packed of cigarettes he’d left behind on the counter before taking one.

He rolled it between his fingers, watching with curiosity as Michael stumbled his way into a tall, thin blonde girl. She looked down at him with a glare, as her glass jostled and spilt a little on the floor. Michael didn’t seem to bothered, taking another step towards her with every word of filthy apology. That same grin was strewn across his face as the girl took several steps back, until they were stood, flushed together, at the edge of the counter unit. Ryan lit the cigarette, and out of the corner of his eye, spotted Brandon pushing his way through the crowd anxiously.

“Hey buddy- what’s your problem?”

Michael’s glare turned dark as he turned around to face a man who was easily twice his height and built. But the semantics of general physics had never kept Michael Jones from a brawl- and once again Ryan found the urge to protect the kid, making sure he didn’t end up harming himself in the pursuit of... well, Ryan wasn’t entirely sure _what_ it was Michael was perusing, in altercation or in life.

He wasn’t sure what it was about Michael that he found so endearing- because his personality was certainly _not_ so. He was completely choleric- prone to bouts of explosive behaviour at the drop of a dime, and most of all, he was irritatingly loud. Still, there was something in the bounce to the curl of his hair and youthfulness of that wicked, evil grin that drew Ryan in until he was the one, cigarette balanced between his lips, dragging Michael away from a fight with a punch to the cheek for his troubles. When Michael noticed that one of his poorly aimed strikes had _not_ hit the intended target, he didn’t bother apologising. Instead, he laughed- and Ryan too found himself laughing, and the two laughed together as the scuffle was quickly brushed under the carpet and forgotten about.

This time, when Michael offered him a line of cocaine, Ryan found it harder to refuse. It was actually quite a nice feeling, numb in a way that made him feel sensations he had never known to be true- and that was how Ryan found himself in the middle of the living room, dancing widely to two different tunes- one blasting from the speaker and one in his own mind- as Michael danced alongside him, laughing abrasively all the while.

“Hey- look- that guy says he’s gonna jump!”

Ryan was surprised at how annoyed he felt when the shrill voice interrupted his high. He and Michel had just about found their rhythm in the double time swing- fresh cigarettes between their fingers, not even yet lit. Ryan was just working up the courage to ask him for another line of white- but no, instead they rushed over to the balcony, just in time to see Brandon, eyes wide and panicked, stood on the edge with his arms outstretched like an unbalanced bird.

“Hey, wait-” someone called, but it was too late. Brandon, predictably, lost his balance and his body went sailing twenty stories down, into the carpark. Nobody flinched. Nobody even moved, besides Ryan and Michael, who walked forwards, pushing their way through the crowd huddled by the veranda doors and out into the cold air. Everybody else stayed inside, and as he heard the flick of a lighter behind him, Ryan dared to lean forwards, over the balcony, to catch a glimpse at what was laid beneath.

It wasn’t the most gruesome scene he’d ever seen. Actually, Ryan supposed, Brandon had had a fairly graceful death, face up, back impounded on a decently smashed up car parked innocently between a Honda Civic and a sparkling new white Tesla, which now had red bloodstains splattering the paintjob. Still, the car could be resprayed. Brandon, small sunglasses broken over his narrow chest, would not be fixed so easily.

 

* * *

 

 

An hour or so later, Ryan and Michal were still on the balcony. They’d moved to a sitting position, at the small glass table that sat in the far corner. Ryan’s foot was tapping to the muted beat of music, still blasting from inside. Michael was on his last cigarette, eyes fixed on the over-spilling ashtray.

“Should we call a doctor or something?” Ryan asked, nodding vaguely in the direction to which Brandon was still laid. Michael scoffed.

“What’s a doctor gonna do for him?” he stood up, blunt stub of a finished cigarette held loosely between his thumb and index finger. “No point waiting the power on a fucking phone-call.” He sniffed, but certainly not out of sadness, and tossed the cigarette out over the balcony. “Goodnight, Haywood.”

Michael retreated inside the apartment. Twenty or so minutes of pensive, lonely thinking later, Ryan got up and looked back over the balcony at Brandon’s body. Michael’s discarded cigarette could be seen, stark white against the black of his tuxedo jacket.


	4. part four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conditions deteriorate further, Gavin pleads with Michael, Ray feels uneasy and Meg delivers warning.

 

 

 

Ryan’s stomach turned as he stared at the box of peaches.

Where he came from, peaches grew on every tree in a ten foot radius- but here, in the tower, there was only one place they were available. The supermarket.

The power outages certainly didn’t help the produce stay fresh. The fruit isle was particularly revolting, second only to the dairy isle, which people were now giving quite a wide birth. Ryan had overheard a few residences who lived nearby complaining that the smell was coming up through the vents, but the check out girl just shrugged, popping bubble-gum between her pink lips. Ryan didn’t blame her. There was nothing she could do about it.

The lights flickered slightly as he made his way out with a few boxes of cereal, and some dried jerky. That would be enough to keep him going for a little while. For some reason, he didn’t crave _real food_ such much anymore. It was more about staying alive than the enjoyment of eating a meal. Besides, with the infrequent-turned-frequent power outages slowly making their ways up to the top ten floors, there wouldn’t be much to cook with, soon enough.

He made his way back to his apartment, holding his breath when the elevator randomly stopped at floor twenty-one and the doors opened. The trash chutes were all kinds of backed up, so people had taken to just throwing their trash-bags out into the hallways, waiting hopefully for the maintenance staff to come and collect them. So far, there hadn’t been a collection. The residents were still holding out.

A woman stepped into the elevator, an almost new-born baby strapped to her chest. The circles under her eyes were so dark, they looked almost purple, like bruises. Ryan did his best not to stare. The baby affixed to her chest began to wail, but she made no effort to soothe it as she jabbed the button for floor fifteen. Ryan silently hoped the elevator would go up before plummeting back down.

No such luck. They reached floor fifteen and the lights flickered again. Neither Ryan nor the woman blinked.

“Spare any change?”

Ryan looked at her, confused. She raised an eyebrow expectantly, one hand outstretched in the space between them. The baby cried louder. Ryan reached into his pockets, but all he had left on him was fifty-two cents. Awkwardly, he handed the money over. The woman looked into her palm, and then back up to him, before letting out a long sigh and exiting the elevator.

The thumping of music could be heard as Ryan made his way back up to his floor. It wasn’t uncommon for apartment parties to spill out into the hallways and go on all night, all day, sometimes longer. He did his best to stay away when things got too wild- but someone had to be there to make sure Michael didn’t hurt someone, or himself, too badly. Gavin slept sixteen hours a day, no matter how loud the music was playing. Ray had a habit of going AWOL for days at a time, returning randomly with no explanation to where he might have been.

Ryan was surprised to find the boy in question, sitting on the kitchen counter of his apartment, legs swinging back and forth against the cabinets with that familiar, wry smile. Ryan was surprised, but not shocked. Ray knew how to find his way pretty much anywhere, and didn’t so much as blink when Ryan made his way over, setting his groceries down beside him on the countertop.

“Still haven’t unpacked, huh?” he was eyeing the stacks of boxes that still littered the room, dog-eared at the corners. Ryan opened up the cereal box and took a hearty handful straight to the mouth. Ray reached inside and did the same.

“Haven’t got round to it.” He answered. “It’s on my to-do list.”

“Hey, uh-” Ryan frowned when Ray stuttered awkwardly. Something was different about him today. He seemed a little shaken up, his skin was drier than usual, curls damp and lifeless. “You were there right… that night, when Brandon…” he trailed off, but Ryan didn’t need him to finish. Wordlessly, he nodded.

“I guess I’ve just been thinking about it, ever since.” He said. _Me too_ , Ryan wanted to say. He tried to think back to the night that Brandon had gone sailing over the balcony of Michael and Gavin’s apartment. The memory felt far away- as if it had occurred years and years ago, but then- maybe it was just a week? Two weeks? He’d have to ask Michael. It’d been a while since they’d seen each other last.

“Was I right?” Ray sniffed, and when Ryan looked over to him, he noticed the tears in his eyes, clinging to his thick, black lashes. “About your family, Rye? Are they dead?”

Ryan blinked. “Probably.”

“Do you sleep?” he asked. Ryan shook his head, and walked closer, holding onto Ray’s small thigh gently, stroking the side with his thumb.

“Not really.” He whispered. “You?”

“No.” Ray wiped the tears away from his face with open palms and shifted slightly, sitting up straighter. He cleared his throat. “I just… feel _uneasy_ , I don’t know. It’s like suddenly everyone’s decided to cross this invisible line and it’s only going to get worse. People are losing their inhibitions- and not in the good way, you know?”

Before Ryan could think up an answer, they were interrupted by a violent pounding on the door. Ray rolled his eyes, and hopped down off the counter, walking in the direction of the balcony. Ryan left him to it, and approached the door.

He crouched slightly, looking through the peephole. Michael’s face, bruised and pale, was on the other side. He pounded on the door again, and Ryan took a step back. He looked out towards the balcony, where a trail of cigarette smoke was floating into the apartment.

He didn’t want to answer.

“Ryan! Are you in there?!”

Ryan took another step back. The banging didn’t stop.

“Come _on-_ I saw you leave the supermarket. I wanna tell you about my new idea! I’ve had an _epiphany_!”

Ryan closed his eyes, and rubbed his hands over his face slowly.

“Fine- don’t answer, just _listen_!” Michael shouted, and Ryan could practically see through the walls, imagine him slumped on the doorframe, entire body pressed against it, as if he could force his way inside. “I’m going to make a video- a _documentary_ about this fucking _evil_ tower and _Geoff fucking Ramsey_ , whoever he is! An _expose,_ Rye! To show the world what’s _really_ going on!”

“I know you’re listening in there!” he continued, and Ryan could sense him, peering through the peephole. He wanted to walk away, but his feet wouldn’t let him. “Come on Ryan- don’t you think it’s weird?!” how could one man be so fucking _loud,_ Ryan wondered.  “A man can fall from the fucking twentieth floor and not one police car shows up? Huh?”

Michael’s philosophies often unsettled him, but that was nothing new. He was just an explosive person- easily enthralled by wild ideas and speculation. Ryan didn’t have to play into his latest conspiracy theory, just because it had one inkling of truth.

Mustering up all the will he could, Ryan turned on his heel and headed out onto the balcony where Ray was waiting. Michael continued to bang on the door, but it was much harder to hear when he closed the balcony door, shutting himself and Ray outside, in silence.

“What did he want?” Ray asked without looking round.

“Nothing important.” Ryan lied, taking the cigarette Ray offered him without hesitation. “Michael was just… you know, being Michael. Rambling. He was probably drunk but… just in case- maybe keep away from him for a while.” He mumbled around the butt, as Ray held out the flame of his lighter. Ryan accepted and took a long, dizzying drag.

“Please, it’s only Michael.” Ray gave a small smile and an unassuming laugh. “He’s harmless- well- mostly. He wouldn’t lay a finger on me, anyway. Not again.”

 _Not again_. Ryan wanted to ask what that meant, but it was too late. Ray had already started talking about something else, theorizing again. Something was going on upstairs, apparently. They were planning something drastic- unhappy about the situation on the lower floors. Apparently, the upper-folk wanted to make it very clear who was in charge when it came to Tower life.

Ryan did his best to listen, but it all blurred into one vague cloud of conspiracy. So far, he hadn’t heard hind nor hair of Geoff Ramsey or any of his cronies. The only thing Ryan was focused on in that moment was himself, surviving, and Ray’s presence beside his own.

“They’ll start small,” Ray finished, tossing the cigarette over the edge before taking in a large, heaving breath of clean oxygen. “But they’ll get their message across.”

“Ha.” Ryan laughed awkwardly, watching as Ray made his way back over to the balcony doors, clearly intending to leave. He wasn’t sure how to go about asking him to stay. “Don’t be so dramatic. Geoff’s a reasonable enough man.”

Ray’s eyes left his, burying themselves in the corner of the ground.

His voice was a low mumbled. “Sure he is.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

The room was so dark, Gavin couldn’t even tell if his eyes were open. He stretched out across the bed, feeling his stiff joints click and lock. The sounds made him grimace. He rolled over onto his side, reaching blindly for the alarm clock, which beeped angrily at him. _21:38._

“What the…” he mumbled aloud, but his voice was hoarse, and scratchy. He reached up to rub his dry mouth, as the clattering and fumbling from the direction of the living room grew louder. It took a lot of strength, but he managed to pull himself up from bed and stumble over to the door. He’d like to at least be able to ID whoever it was ransacking his apartment if they ever made it as far as a police line-up.

The light pierced his vision when he opened the bedroom door, but at least he wasn’t so afraid of random thugs anymore. Michael had, for some reason, opened every drawer in the entire main room and dumped its contents onto the floor in a frantic search for something. This was the second time in a week this had happened.

“Michael…” he drawled sleepily. “ _Michael_!” he repeated, louder, and that caught his boyfriends attention. Michael stilled his movements, and looked up, like a rabbit locked in headlights.

“Oh, Gav. You’re awake.” He said, frowning. “Why are you awake? Are the meds not working?”

“They’re working.” Gavin nodded, and, like every time he and Michael found themselves in the same room together (something which was becoming more and more of a rare occurrence recently) he felt the magnetic urge to rush over and pull the boy into his arms. However, his body just wouldn’t allow it, still too exhausted, so instead he hung limply around the doorframe, one foot in the main room, one lurking in the bedrooms darkness.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Michael asked, going back to his search through the cabinet under the TV. “C’mon, tell me.”

Gavin sniffed, before blinking a few more times, eyes adjusting to the light of the room. He couldn’t even remember how long ago it was that he’d fallen asleep. Only that he’d been alone.

“I want you to stop leaving me alone in the apartment at night.” He said, and Michael stilled, sighing. “There’s been stories about… break-ins and looting and stuff on the floor below ours. What if that happens here when I’m asleep and you’re… god knows where, doing God knows what-”

“-Gavin,” Michael cut him off, standing and making his way over to the doorway. Two heavy, calloused palms settled over Gavin’s thin arms. “Go back to sleep, please. I’m onto something, okay? I’m making the best _Rage Quit_ , like, ever.” He then leant forwards, intending to kiss Gavin on the lips, but he turned his head away. Michael caught the side of his face, and made his way tenderly down his neck with short, sweet kisses. Gavin tried not to let it distract him.

“But it’s pointless Michael-”

“Shh.” He was cut off again, as Michael’s hands travelled to his hips and their bodies became pressed together. Michael pushed forwards, and Gavin stumbled backwards, back into the bedroom. Michael sucked a hickey into his neck gently, before leaning back. “Go back to sleep, Gavin.”

Tears welled in Gavin’s eyes. Michael didn’t notice. The room was too dark to see.

“I don’t trust you.” He whispered.

“I love you.” Michael replied, kissing him once on the mouth, before stepping away completely, back into the main room. “Take your medicine.” Was the last thing he said before the door was pushed closed, and Gavin collapsed against the bed, once again, in complete darkness.

 

* * *

 

 

Ryan stood in the lobby, staring at the doors.

For some reason, every day his suit was starting to feel tighter. The laces of his shoes trapped is feet in sweltering heat, and sweat gathered at his brow. His heart hammered inside his ribcage as the group of workers (growing smaller by the day) swarmed around him, heading out to their cars.

It wasn’t the first time he’d felt like this.

It was becoming harder and harder to place one foot in front of the other most mornings. Ryan felt like some kind of elasticated mechanism was wrapped around his gut, tying him to the tower. Every time he ventured further away from it, the slingshot snapped, and dragged him back to safety. Even now, he could feel it tugging as he made his way out the doors and into the carpark. He squinted, looking around in search for his car, unable to recall where he had parked it.

Ryan allowed his eyes to drift around the concrete expanse. Many of the businessmen and women were getting ready to leave, but some stayed dormant in their cars, staring back at the tower with longing in their eyes. A few climbed out, heading back inside in a rushed, panicked manor. Ryan felt his stomach turn as his eyes drifted over to the smashed up convertible, still between the sparkling white tesla and the aged blue Honda civic, where Brandon’s body had once laid. The car was still there, nobody had bothered to move or claim it. They just worked around it. Many nights, Ryan had stared down at it from his balcony and resisted the urge to scream.

It was all too much. Ryan’s heart was hammering like a hummingbirds wings and his breaths were growing shorter, more panicked. The grip on his briefcase tightened. Logic didn’t apply. All Ryan knew was that he had to get back inside.

Work would have to wait. Again.

Ryan rushed back into the building and started up the long staircase. Once again, the elevators were ‘down for maintenance’ between floor 0 and floor 19, whatever that meant. However, since the gym had also been closed temporarily to conserve power, it was a good work out. Ryan loosened his tie and started his way up the stairs, hoping that there wouldn’t be too many obstacles along his way.

It was mostly trash. Since the maintenance team had gone on strike due to the clogged garbage disposal chutes, people had become accustom to just living with the trash bags cast out in the hallways or bundled up on the staircases. At first, it had created the most awful smell, but over time you sort of just _got used to it_. Ryan didn’t even question it when he made it up to floor nineteen where the elevators resumed their usual service, watching as a stray ginger cat darted past his feet, through the halls, one of the maintenance staff chasing after it with a golf club gripped in his fist.

The cat’s shrill hiss was the last thing he heard before the elevator doors shut and the lift came to life, shooting him up to his floor where things were just a little more civilised. There was still small piles of trash everywhere, and a few of the more rebellious kids who made their way up to floors like his to ‘play out’, but the atmosphere wasn’t so suffocating. Ryan made his way around the corner to his apartment and was quite surprised to see Meg Turney, stood outside it, a distraught expression on her face.

She was wearing a white dress, but it was torn slightly around the back. Her hair wasn’t blue anymore. It was a vibrant, screaming red, tumbling around her shoulders in stark contrast to the dress. Her shoes matched. Her expression did not.

“Things are growing awfully tense upstairs.” She said once he approached her, but didn’t lift her eyes to meet his. Ryan just frowned. “It’s so tedious. I miss Penny. She’d’ve known what to do.”

Her words unsettled Ryan. If anything, Meg was just confirming Ray’s speculations, which then confirmed to him that Ray knew a lot more about the Tower and the people at the top than he had previously let on. Why he kept everything so damn secretive Ryan couldn’t understand- but he supposed that Michael would have a lot to say about his so-called best friend rubbing shoulders with the bourgeoise group he despised the most. Still, Ryan figured Ray could at least have the decency to be honest with him.

“Mr and Mrs Ramsey have been arguing a lot.” Meg told him, even though he hadn’t asked a single question, too lost in his own complicated thoughts. “Griffon wants to leave, visit some family but… Geoff put his foot down.”

“What does this have to do with me?”

Meg looked up at him then, for the first time, and smiled. Her teeth were shockingly white, glaring at him through the dim lighting of the hallway. Meg continued to smile, but her eyes were dull, and unfeeling.

“Keep your eyes open, yeah Ryan?” she said. “You never know what’s just around the corner.” Her voice dropped into a whisper and she tiptoed up, leaning into him. Her body was warm pressed against his, and she left him with the ghost of a kiss on his cheek, before turning and heading back down the hallway, towards the elevator. Part of Ryan wanted to call after her and demand to know why she, along with everyone, felt the need to be so cryptic. However, some other part of him told him that he probably wouldn’t like the answer, so instead he fished his key out of his jacket pocket and unlocked the door to his apartment, where he could peacefully spend the rest of the evening alone.


	5. part five

 

PART FIVE

 

 

 

Ryan was startled awake by the alarm he’d set on his phone, reminding him that the workday was over.

It was becoming like routine- the rare days he did build up the courage to escape the towers confines and get to work, he would collapse at his desk, head in his arms. Steffie had been giving him concerned glances in the halls for weeks. Ryan couldn’t blame her. The dark circles underneath his eyes were only getting thicker, and the few hours he caught hunched over his desk weren’t doing anything good for his neck and back.

Sleeping at night just wasn’t an option anymore. Break-ins and looting had been rising fairly exponentially, so Ryan spent most of his nights awake, sat in the middle of his furniture-barren living room with a bat in one hand and a box of cereal in the other. Some nights Ray would join him, and they’d lay down on the mattress he’d dragged out into the living room, staring at the rotting cardboard towers that surrounded them. Other nights, Ray was nowhere to be seen, and Ryan just prayed that the rumours about people getting taken as well as belongings weren’t much more than urban myth from the floors below his.

The lights flickered as Ryan made his way down to Michael and Gavin’s apartment. They were throwing another party, the third one this week. It was starting to become the only way people could fill their nights without fighting sleep. For a community of people who could barely afford the food they looted from the supermarket, there never seemed to be a shortage of drugs and alcohol in the apartment gatherings that seemed to take over whole floors. Ryan was suspicious, naturally, but there wasn’t much to be done. You just had to _go_ _with it,_ Ray said. Asking questions would only hurt more, in the long run.

It had started slowly, but Ryan had started to notice a few familiar faces from the upstairs world at the twentieth-floor gatherings. Burnie Burns and Joel Heyman, then people like Matt Hullum, Gus Sorola- he’d even seen Meg once or twice, accompanied by a blonde girl he was _sure_ had to be Barbara Dunkelman. It seemed to be all the top level cronies eventually, aside from Mr and Mrs Ramsey themselves. Ryan hadn’t actually laid eyes on Geoff since the day they’d played golf together.

How long ago was that? Weeks or months?

“ _Watch where you’re going, asshole_.”

Ryan frowned, pushing through the group of rugged children. They’d been taking over some of the lower floors and using them as their own personal playparks. It was incredibly inconvenient. The leader, a small scrappy boy with matted red hair and scabs on his knees was puffing on a cigarette, glaring at him foully. Ryan chuckled, thinking of Michael.

“Sorry guys. I’m just trying to get to the gym.” He gestured to the towel slung over his shoulder. Just because life as they knew it seemed to be falling apart alongside decent societal norms, didn’t mean that Ryan just had to stop taking care of himself. If anything, he needed it more now than ever. It was every man for themselves, and he needed to stay in good shape if he was going to be able to protect himself _and_ Ray too.

Maybe, one day, he and Ray would set up camp together. Ryan wouldn’t have to just wait until he saw a flash of dark curls in the crowd at one of Michael’s parties or in the coridoors, pushing his way through the weak and wounded. For someone so scrawny, Ray carried himself with surprisingly high confidence. He didn’t fear the violence or the stealing or the general fall of morality. He strode through the destroyed hallways with a passive, blank expression. He talked with Ryan about video games and the weather as if nothing was wrong. He disappeared for hours, sometimes days, without warning. Ryan never asked where he went. Ray never told.

“Good luck with that, mister.” A small voice said from behind as Ryan pushed open the door to the gym. He frowned, ready to turn and ask what the child could possibly mean, but by opening the doors to the gym he instantly knew what they were referring too.

The whole room was black.

Every piece of equipment was coated with black ash, and the heavy chemical sent of burnt metal hovered in the air. A few residents were milling about, poking through the debris for anything that might have seemed useful. Among them was Burns, Hullum and Heyman, stood in the centre. They didn’t look particularly remorseful. Burns was actually curling a small dumbbell.

Ryan dropped his towel to the ground. His feet failed to shift, leaving him frozen in the doorway. He stood at the three men in the centre of the room. Heyman’s golden pinky-ring sparkled as it caught the sunlight streaming through the window on the side of the wall. Single handed, it was probably worth more than the whole room.

“What about him?” Hullum said aloud, nodding in Ryan’s direction. Either he didn’t think Ryan was paying attention to them, or he didn’t care. Burns lifted his eyes to look over, and Heyman did the same. Ryan assumed with was the latter.

Burns smirked, dropping the dumbbell back onto the floor where it fell with a heavy thud.

“Don’t worry. I think he knows his place.”

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Ryan made it back to his apartment, darkness had fallen over the entire twenty-fifth floor, not a flicker of electricity in sight. Sighing, he pulled his phone out of his breast pocket and used the dim light to navigate his way back to his apartment. Thankfully, there wasn’t ever much trouble this high up- debauchery and crime was usually saved for the lower floors. For now, it was just Ryan, and his small glowing light, alone in the corridor.

When he unlocked the front door, he was a little surprised to see Ray, sat on the mattress in the middle of the floor, smoking a cigarette.

“Hey Ryan,” he said quietly. Ryan nodded in greeting. “How’s the gym?”

“Burnt down.” Ryan replied matter-of-factly, slipping his jacket off and hanging it on the coat rack by the door. He then proceeded to loosen his tie, and undo the first few buttons of hit shirt. Now that he was comfortable, he made space for himself on the mattress besides Ray, close but not quite touching. Ray himself was surprisingly put together. Ryan was used to seeing all sorts of residents in all sorts of varied states of disarray- with their tattered clothes and broken limbs, but Ray always seemed to just sort of look like _Ray_. He’d never been the most neat or pristine person, but it occurred to Ryan just a little too late that (aside from the growing hair on his head and face) Ray looked more or less exactly the same as he had when they first met, despite the dramatic shift in the environment around them.

“Can’t sleep?” Ray asked him after a comfortable hour of silence between the two. Ryan was laid back on the mattress at this point, hands tucked behind his head, gaze fixated on the pale grey ceiling. He was starting to grow sick of the colour that covered the whole apartment. Maybe he’d redecorate soon.

“Not these days.” He admitted. “I’ve half a mind to take the bottle of sleeping pills I’ve been saving for Gavin myself.”

Ray scoffed. “Trust me, he needs them more than you.”

Ryan hummed in agreement. He hadn’t seen much of Gavin for a while, even at the parties Michael threw in their apartment and its surroundings. Every time he asked about the Brit’s whereabouts, the answer was the same. _Sorry Ryan. Gavin’s sleeping_.

It couldn’t be healthy to sleep quite so much, but if the alternative was the exhausted, downtrodden boy Ryan had first met when he moved in, Ryan guess that a more-or-less comatose version of Gavin was the lesser of two evils.

There was something else on his mind. Something he’d been thinking over for a good, long while- and even when he was distracted by Ray or work or Michael or the gym, the thought still stuck in the back of his mind. He didn’t really have anyone to talk to like he used to when he was still seeing his therapist, but lying back on the mattress as the lights flickered before cutting out, the apartment growing dark around him, Ryan figured Ray was just as good a shrink as any.

“Brandon’s death was my fault.” He whispered. It was hard to make Ray out now that the lights had cut, but Ryan watched the whites of his deep brown eyes swivel over, and the glowing red end of the cigarette he smoked floated in the air as Ray lifted it from his mouth down to rest in his hand.

He scoffed. “Don’t be so fucking self-obsessed, Ryan.”

Ryan didn’t bother answering. Instead, he just nodded, and after a few seconds Ray wriggled down beside him, laying himself in Ryan’s arms so they could both catch an hour or so of sleep, curled together.

 

* * *

 

 

 

He was still thinking about the ceiling, and that disgusting grey chrome affect. It covered the walls of his apartment too- everything so bland and mind-numbing that it was harder and harder to look at as the hours and weeks stretched on. Ray had stayed for a few days, a luxury in itself, so he was distracted enough- but after his light had left Ryan was faced once again with the crushing realisation that his apartment was _boring_.

So he went down to the supermarket. It wasn’t much of a market anymore, produce scattered, shelves in disarray, people rushing through with flashlights and boxes of matches, trying to read the small-print on cans of dogfood to check they were safe for human consumption. Ryan did his best to ignore the masses around him, stopping short in the ‘home décor’ aisle when he spotted one, lonely tin of paint on the top shelf. He squinted, reading the colour.

 _Rust-Oleum Green._ It reminded him, in a weird way, of the tower logo, the black star, the glowing green background that followed them on every floor. Ryan smiled to himself and lifted the tin off the shelf, just as Michael rushed past him, Jeremey and another man Ryan didn’t recognise with long, limp hair and glasses chasing behind him with microphone recorders and spotlights. Ryan rolled his eyes. Michael must have been filming for his _Rage Quit_ documentary still.

It was all he’d been doing recently, and Ryan watched as Michael wove his way through the crowd, hunched low until he came to a stop, right in front of Burnie Burns, who was standing tall, flanked by Joel Heyman and Jack Pattillo. They were staring at the remaining few bottles of red wine on the vineyard shelf.

“What do you want, kid?” Jack turned, lip snarling. Michael just lifted his camera up and ushered for Jeremey and the other to follow, blasting light onto the three men’s faces so they’d show up better on film.

“What’s going on upstairs?” Michael demanded to know. “Where’s the architect? Where’s _Geoff Ramsey?_ Does he know what’s going on down here?”

“Don’t let your smart mouth get you into something your ass can’t handle.” Burnie’s tone was low and warning as he took the slightest step forwards, chest puffed out. Ryan had never seen Michale back down from any kind of confrontation before- if anything, the boy seemed to find them thrilling- so he was surprised when Michael took a step back, camera shaking slightly in his grip.

“Just answer the questions-”

“-If you don’t _fuck off_ , I’ll kick you in the teeth.” Joel muttered, fist clenched. Michael swallowed thickly.

“Where’s the architect?” he repeated.

Jack growled. “You’ve got five seconds to run.”

“Where is _Geoff Ramsey_? Why hasn’t anybody seen him in weeks?”

“Now it’s three.”

“Answer the fucking questions, fat man!”

“And now it’s one-” Michael didn’t have time to run because a large fist went sailing into his nose, coating his face with an impressive spray of blood. He dropped his camera, Jeremey rushing forwards to grab it before shouting for his accomplice, ‘ _Matt’_ , to manage both the lighting and the sound. Neither jumped in when all three elders launched themselves at Michael, hitting and kicking him until he was a curled-up ball on the floor. Michael snarled with rage, doing a fairly decent job of fighting back against three older men, fists flying, teeth gritted. Ryan just hugged his paint can to his chest and took several steps backwards. If Ray or Gavin were here, he knew they would expect him to jump in and defend their friend, but there was too much that scared him about men like Jack and Burnie. They were big, sure, but Ryan was big too. It wasn’t physical intimidation that frightened him. It was more about the fact that men like Jack and Burnie and even the elusive Joel Heyman didn’t care about the lives of the people they opposed. They beat Michael to a pulp in the middle of the supermarket whilst Jeremey and Matt filmed, and didn’t stop when his body went limp and unconscious. Those were the kind of men who did not fear consequence for their actions.

“Should we help him?” Matt hissed over to Jeremey, who shrugged, uncertain.

“Content.” He said. Ryan’s stomach turned.

He rushed past the commotion to the checkout, where the same check-out girl, _Mariel_ , was standing in the same green uniform with the same, bored expression.

“¿Algo más?” She asked as he set the paint can down onto the conveyor belt. Ryan shook his head.

“No thanks.”

“Hey!”

Ryan whipped his head around to spot two residents he didn’t recognise. He was certain they were from floors higher than himself, one with glowing blue eyes and hair dark as soot, the other much softer looking, far less threatening with his small, lean stature and soft brown eyes.

“Aaron, Chris, leave the guy alone.” a random girl said, but was ignored. Aaron, the one with the blue eyes, rolled his sleeves up and stalked forwards. Ryan looked between him and the check-out girl, who shrugged her shoulders.

“Ese no es mi problema.”

“Give the paint over.” Aaron said, teeth gritted. The other man, Chris, hung back, looking a little nervous. Ryan lifted the can and hugged it to his chest.

“It’s my paint.”

“I won’t ask again.” Aaron’s hand curled into a fist. “Give it over. I need it.”

“It’s _my paint_.” Ryan repeated, a little louder.

“Give me the paint!” Aaron yelled, lunging at him. His first shove caught Ryan off balance, and they both tumbled to the floor, Aaron waving his fists wildly and shouting, spit hitting Ryan’s face. He struggled for a few seconds as Aaron got in some good hits, before he generated enough strength to turn them over, whacking Aaron across the face with the metal tin. He groaned as he heard a crack that must’ve been Aaron’s impressively sculpted nose, watching as blood poured out, over his lips. That should’ve been where the dispute ended, but for some reason, Ryan felt electric. He set the tin of paint down besides Aaron’s head and lifted his fist.

“Wait, please- don’t!” it must’ve been the other- _Chris_ \- calling forlornly from behind, but Ryan didn’t care to listen. He hit Aaron again and again, first in the cheek and then in the side of his neck and then he kept going, wailing on him with both fists until his face was nothing but a beaten bloody mess and he’d stopped making groans of protest. Ryan’s hands were completely red with blood, face locked into an aggressive snarl. He leant up off Aaron, panting, and picked up his tin of paint. He looked up at Mariel, dead in the eyes as ever. She looked back at him, and said nothing.

Ryan threw a few coins down on the conveyor belt and stalked out of the supermarket, incredibly unsure and just a little bit thrilled at what had just happened.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“This is like, the greenest green I’ve ever seen.”

Ray sounded almost high, voice floaty as he laid back on the mattress, marvelling as Ryan dragged the paintbrush half-hazardless over the walls, over his body, his face, his hair. Everything was green. He was covered in it, and it felt good every time he caught sight of himself in the one mirror that hung to see something different. Ryan liked being green- and Ray liked it too, giggling happily every time Ryan flicked paint from the end of the brush over in his direction.

“I want to paint the whole tower green.” Ryan whispered, mostly to himself, but he was sure Ray had heard. He looked down at his bruised knuckles, green paint successfully covering up the blood that stained his skin, mixing in with the wounds and stinging faintly. It made him feel triumphant. More importantly- it made him _feel_. “Then we could all maybe get along better.”

“That’s a nice thought, Rye.” He hadn’t been aware of Ray getting up, but at some point he must’ve, because now he was stood right behind Ryan, forehead resting against the gap between his shoulder-blades. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll come back.”

Ryan turned around and held Ray’s face in his hands, staining his beard with green.

“You promise?” he asked. Ray smiled and nodded, before tilting his head up, silently asking for a kiss. Ryan gave in, brushing their lips together.

“I promise.” He said, before stepping back. “See you around. Enjoy the green.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Gavin was awoken by a loud pounding at his front door. So loud that he could hear it all the way from the bedroom, where he’d been wrapped in the duvet, a pillow over his head to drown out the noise of the building’s rusty pipes, creaking and groaning behind the walls.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” He yawned, dragging his feet out into the main room. He knew it was probably Michael, having forgotten his key for the umpteenth time. It was becoming a bad habit. Gavin had half a mind to just leave the door open- but he knew that was just asking for trouble. There was too much that went on around the tower in the dark for him to be able to afford such a luxury. There wasn’t much in way of valuables that he and Michael even owned, except for each other, but he was sure the thieves that roamed the corridors at night would find something worth taking if they looked hard enough.

“God- will you remember your bloody key for once instead of-”

Gavin cut himself off when the door was opened and the figure before him made a faint sighing sound.

It was Michael, of course, but he wasn’t drunken, swaying in the doorway with a bottle of beer in his hand or a lit cigarette in his mouth. It was Michael, but for once, he wasn’t talking a mile a minute, theorising about secret corridors leading to the penthouse or discussing sound mixes with Jeremey. It was Michael- but it hardly looked so.

Someone had stuffed him into one of the metal shopping carts from the supermarket and wheeled him to their door, beaten and soaked in blood. The blood ran across his face until he was almost unrecognisable to the human eye, running all down his clothes. He was limp- almost lifeless and if it hadn’t been for the barely-there lifting and falling of his chest, arms hung like dead waits outside the trolley- Gavin would’ve thought him dead. In his lap, sat his precious camera, the only part of him still intact.

Tears stung Gavin’s eyes as he pulled Michael inside, doing his best to lift the unconscious boy out of the trolley and lay him down on the sofa. Michael didn’t stir, but he was definitely still alive, eyes flickering behind his lids along with occasional painful grunts. Gavin rushed into the bathroom and filled a plastic bowl with lukewarm water before finding a clean cloth, kneeling down beside his love to wipe the blood out of his eyes and away from his face. Then, he stripped Michael of his ruined clothes and set to work washing the blood out of his hair, wringing out the cloth and cringing when the clear water turned a murky brown inside the bowl.

“Oh love, what have you gotten yourself into this time?” He whispered, rubbing the water from Michael’s brow with a soft towel. He reached for his bottle of sleeping pills, left out carelessly on the kitchen table. When he lifted the bottle it felt light, and Gavin was disheartened to realise there was only one left inside. He knew he needed them if he was going to be able to get any sleep- but once Michael was awake Gavin was certain all he’d feel was blistering pain. If he could withhold that, even for just a few hours, he would have to make the sacrifice.

“Take this boi,” he pulled Michael’s lips opened gently and more or less forced him to swallow the pill, tickling his throat with the back of his finger. Michael shifted slightly, eyes swollen and bruised as he groaned, so Gavin just shushed him, running his fingers through Michael’s damp hair gently. “Sleep, Michael boi. You’ll feel better if you sleep.” He peppered gentle kisses across Michael’s face, around his neck and down his bruised chest. He made sure to be feather light with his touches, unwilling to hurt his boyfriend any more than had already been done. He didn’t need to hear the story to know whatever fight this came from was a bad one. He couldn’t imagine this kind of bruising coming from a simple one-on-one struggle at a party. Somebody- _some_ - _bodies_ had ganged up on his boi- and although that made Gavin angry- he was so fucking tired, too tired, to feel much of anything about it all.

So he tucked Michael in on the sofa with a blanket, leaving him with a few more desperate kisses to his unresponsive lips as he slept, and slipped out of the apartment for the first time in weeks, looking for Ryan Haywood.

 

* * *

 

 

 Ryan peered through the peephole apprehensively as the soft knocking distracted him from his latest scrawl of a journal entry. Ray had left, and he was certain Michael wasn’t in any kind of shape to be up walking around and knocking on doors after the beating Ryan had witnessed him take. Jack didn’t often bother knocking, just appeared from within the shadows like a fucking spirit and dragged Ryan upstairs without pausing for conversation.

So, frowning, he leant forwards and looked through the tiny glass circle. He was surprised to see Gavin, very much conscious, and a little anxious looking, stood on the other side. He rushed to open the door, reaching out to pull at Gavin’s wrist and yank him inside.

“Ryan… uh- hi, you alright?”

“Gavin! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” Ryan pulled the frail boy into a hug, wincing at the sharpness of his bones, poking through his lithe body. Gavin hugged back, but he was mostly limp. “How are you?”

“I’m alright, yeah,” Gavin leant back, a little awkwardly, following Ryan with short hesitant steps as he was led further into the apartment. “I… _wow_ , you’ve really done a number on this place.” He looked around at the glowing green walls, and Ryan followed his gaze, beaming proudly.

“It’s quite something, isn’t it?” he asked, green paint clinging to his eyelashes and coating his arms almost entirely. Gavin smiled.

“It really is.” He nodded. “But uh… I actually came to ask for a favour-”

“-pills?” Ryan cut in, and Gavin nodded. “Of course, wait here.”

Gavin stayed still in the middle of the room, staring around at the admittedly sloppy paintjob. It was still wet to the touch, he found, reaching out to stroked one of the walls, green paint creeping under his fingernails, concealing Michael’s blood that lurked underneath. Ryan was rummaging around loudly in the bathroom, and the lime green that matched the tower logo was entirely too bright for such a small room- but Gavin found that here, in the centre of chaos, he actually felt more relaxed than he had in a long time- conscious or otherwise.

“Here!” Ryan suddenly appeared, bouncing out of the bathroom with a small, white plastic bottle in his hand. He shook it a few times and the pills rattled, loudly. “Flunitrazepam, Rohypnol. Guaranteed to knock you out.” He tossed the bottle over, and surprising even himself, Gavin caught it with one hand. This may have been the longest he’d been awake in over a week. Surprisingly, it didn’t burn.

Part of him wanted to stay in Ryan’s happy little green world, but then, like a dark cloud, Michael swam into his thoughts. He knew he couldn’t just leave him, unconscious on the sofa to choke on his own blood. He needed looking after, and despite everything that had gone wrong between them, Gavin had told Michael countless times that he loved him, and his mother had always told him- to love was a promise. That was a promise he couldn’t break.

“I’ll see you around Ryan,” he lingered in the doorway a second too long, Ryan leaning against the frame looking like a handsome adventuring hero, smiling down at him. “And seriously… I love the paint job.”

Gavin would’ve traded every pill in the world to see the way Ryan’s eyes lit up as he smiled again and again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

At the sound of music and screaming, Geoff groaned, eyes shooting open.

It was becoming more and more often that he took hours of sleep in the afternoons rather than at night. It seemed that every evening in his penthouse there was a new party raging, and although Geoff had once loved a stiff drink just as much as the next man, he couldn’t handle the sheer uncontrollable volume of the masses that flocked to see Griffon and her cronies. It was exhausting him. He’d quit drinking all together, hoping they’d follow suit. They did not.

Geoff stared at himself in the mirror, t-shirt crinkled and hair stood up on its end. His blue eyes were ringed with red, facial hair limp and pathetic. He hadn’t shaved in a while, moustache finally starting to grow back in. remembering how much Griffon had loved the giant handlebar he sported for the best part of a year, he reached into the bathroom cabinet and rifled through for his long-abandoned moustache wax, and twirled the slightly overgrown ends between his fingers.

When he stepped out into the apartment’s main room, his slightly spiked mood dropped again. There was countless people, all in various states of undress, that he’d never even seen before milling around with drinks and loose lips and lit cigarettes, carelessly tossed into his ocean of white mink carpets when they were done. Geoff glared around at all of them, but no one paid him much attention. He approached the sofa where Burnie, Joel, Jack and Gus were sat, playing _Trials HD_ on his plasma screen, which had a splintering crack in the top corner.

“Hey.” He approached the pitted sofa from behind, nudging Jack in the back of the head with his foot. “Who the fuck are all these people dude?” he gestured vaguely to the guest around them, frowning when he failed to spot Griffon, mingling amongst them. “Who invited them? Why are some of them naked and where the fuck is my wife?”

Not bothering to pause the TV, Jack leant back to peer up at him, expression disinterested.

“Jeez- so many fucking questions…. they invited themselves, if you must know.”

Geoff huffed, unimpressed with the answer. He pressed down on his temples with his thumb and pointer finger, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Where’s Griffon?” he asked again, teeth gritted.

“Downstairs.” Jack answered, curt. “Why, I guess you’ll have to go down and get her!” he sneered, and around him, Burnie, Joel and Gus sniggered. “About time you left this fucking penthouse and saw the shit we have to deal with.” Jack muttered. Geoff glared down at the back of his head.

“Jack, if it wasn’t already obvious, you’re fucking fired.”

Jack just shrugged. “I don’t work for you Geoff.” He said. “I work for the Tower.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was a few days later when the soft knocking came at his door again, and Ryan shot up, knowing immediately and without question that Gavin would be the one behind the door.

For some reason, he hadn’t been able to get Gavin out of his head. Ryan was used to obsessing over young pretty boys by now, as Ray had been occupying his thoughts for months- but as the days had stretched on and he’d seen absolutely nothing of his true love, his mind had wandered. Gavin had looked so peaceful, standing in the middle of his apartment with his sleepy smile and ruffled hair and sharp jawline. He and Ray were almost complete opposites, but Ryan found he was attracted to the both of them for the same exact reasons.

He wasn’t sure if Gavin shared these feelings, but he certainly seemed nervous as he made his way into the apartment with half a bottle of cheap wine that Ryan reluctantly shared with him, the two sprawled out on the mattress in the middle of the green room. Ryan was well aware that there were still specks of green paint clinging to his skin, and didn’t flinch when Gavin reached up to his face, brushing them away from underneath his eyes. He had green under his fingernails too, and the image was oddly pleasing.

“How’s Michael?” he asked, Gavin’s hand still warm on his face. They were only a few inches apart, laid side by side on the mattress. Ryan wondered just how easy it would be for their lips to connect, but held himself back.

Gavin shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about Michael right now.”

Ryan stared at him, blue eyes meeting green. He’d never been this close to Gavin before to the point where he could appreciate the swirling multiday of colour in his iris’, but now he knew how beautiful they were, he couldn’t look away. Ryan found that the boy’s eyes almost glowed, brown and gold and flecks of green swirling together into an intimate, autumnal hue.

“What do you want to talk about?” he whispered. Gavin seemed nervous, eyes quivering as they looked between Ryan’s pupils. He shook his head.

“I don’t want to talk.”

And then they were kissing.

Ryan wasn’t sure how things got out of hand so quickly, but soon enough he’d yanked his trousers down just to thigh level before turning Gavin over and doing the same. It was as conservative as sex could get- both of them still fully clothed, Gavin’s fingers grasping at the mattress in fleeting, tight grips as he whined and keened and huffed quietly whilst Ryan did all the work behind him. Neither had anything to say- their story was told easily by the curve of Gavin’s spine and the grip of Ryan’s hands on his hips and in his hair- they _both_ needed this, perhaps more than either of them had realised until now, when they were trapped in the moment.

Afterwards, Ryan re-dressed Gavin and himself. Then, he collapsed beside him, turning his head so the two could look at each other. Gavin squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to share Ryan’s gaze.

“We shouldn’t have done that.” He said quietly, after twenty minutes or so of silence. He still hadn’t opened his eyes. Ryan reached over and stroked his face gently.

“No.” he agreed. “We shouldn’t’ve.”

It didn’t matter that Michael all but threw himself at any willing pair of lips or hands in the building as soon as he’d had a drink, whether Gavin was around to see or not. It didn’t matter that keeping Ray was about as difficult as keeping a stray cat around- or that Ryan suspected he still had frequent liaisons with their creator up on the top floor. It didn’t matter just how unfairly they had been treated by their respective spouses either.

It was unfair.

Ryan was starting to enjoy benefitting from the unfair.

 

* * *

 

 

Piercing light blasting his eyelids, and pain.

That was all Michael felt when he finally woke up.

He didn’t remember much, just those rich assholes from the top floors and the supermarket and a lot of shouting, followed by a lot of punching and kicking. However, clearly he had made it home somehow, despite the ache that followed him down to his bones.

Shakily, Michael stood, peering around his empty apartment. He assumed Gavin was still sleeping. This was good. Gavin’s unconscious mind was probably the safest place in the whole building, and if that meant harassing Ryan until his prescription was refilled, so be it. Michael knew he would happily die protecting Gavin, so keeping him inside for as many hours as possible worked in both their favours. Michael didn’t have to risk his life fighting someone for looking at his boyfriend the wrong way, and there was no risk of Gavin being hurt or taken in the dark of the night.

His legs were a little unstable, face and ribs aching, but Michael found he was still able to walk. eyeing his camera, laid carefully on the coffee table, he decided that meant he was more than able to continue filming too. He’d just have to make his way downstairs and find Jeremey and Matt. The last time he remembered seeing them was for sure inside the supermarket. Stupid bastards hadn’t even tried to help him. Michael just hoped they’d at least filmed the whole ordeal and gotten a half decent angle.

When he made his way out into their corridor, he was surprised to see that the lift was actually functioning and the hall lights had been switched on. He couldn’t remember the last time electricity had made it down to their floor- but apparently the upstairs people were having a slow day, so a few bolts had managed to trickle down to the slums. Michael smiled to himself, ignoring the disgusted glares he received from neighbours, probably aimed at his beaten and bruised face or, quite possibly- just at him. Michael didn’t have the energy to care for their opinions on his looks or his personality. A few bumps and bruises would hardly mean anything in the grand scheme of things, once his final Rage Quit video was finished and ready for public viewing. Michael was ready to change the world and change the world he _would_. He _knew_. He could feel it vibrating through his body.

When he made it to the ground floor where he, Jeremey and Matt often met to organise their equipment, he kicked his way through the mess and looked around at the carnage. The lobby was a hotspot for some of the worst activity- as the few toppers who still made their way out to work in the daytime were jumped and robbed for their valuables, kicking and screaming as they were dragged back into the towers clutches.

It was empty today, except, Michael noted almost immediately, for a man he’d never seen before.

He looked a little out of place- clothes far too neat and greasy, dark hair too sharp. His eyes (a glowing, piercing blue to the likes of which Michael had never seen before) were heavy and sunken but not from the same exhaustion the residents he knew were used to seeing. This was a new kind of tired- more exasperated than anything else.

A dog was wandering around the mans ankles, a pitbull Michael had never seen roaming the corridors before.

“Arrow, girl- leave that alone!” the man snapped, kicking an empty tin can away from the dog’s mouth. Michael approached him slowly, glaring. He wasn’t sure why, but there was something about this man- this _stranger_ , that he didn’t trust, nor care for.

“Who are you?” He called, and the man finally turned to look at him. “What floor?”

The man swallowed, clearly nervous as Michael approached him slowly, circling both him and the dog, which crouched protectively at his feet. “This one?” He answered, but it sounded more like a question, dark eyebrows raised. Michael spat a bitter laugh. “I’m looking for my wife, actually.” He continued. “Blonde hair… tattoos? Septum piercing? Sound familiar?”

“Haven’t seen her.” He mumbled, taking a step back. “But good luck. And, Uh… I’d be careful with that search party of yours. There’s a lot of…uh, _unhappy_ tenants roaming around.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” The man answered quietly. Then, locked in silent stand-off, he conceded and looked away from Michael’s snarling gaze. Without another word, he set off towards the elevator, whistling for the dog to follow him. Michael just stood completely still and watched him go. Then, when the elevator doors shut, he looked down at his camera. This was a mystery that would have to wait. He needed to find The Architect first.

 

* * *

 

 

There were several things Geoff learnt from his night below the penthouse.

The first, was that people got worse in the dark. In the afternoon and early evening, he felt more of a need for survival coming from the residents he passed. People scavenged in packs, helping and supporting each other each step of the way. It was oddly impressive. Like all poor people- they were obsessed with wealth, and he was approached no less than three times (once by a man in a torn, polyester suit, once by a woman with bags under her eyes and raw, bitten fingernails and once by a child with his head shaved and a nasty gash across his left cheek) by those who had something to barter to sell in exchange for food and weapons. Geoff didn’t have anything aside from the crowbar he’d picked up in the lobby after his conversation with that fiery red-headed boy. He wasn’t sure why, but the boy made him uneasy, and after that, he felt the need for protection.

Once the night set in, the air changed. The more frail looking people, half-put together and half-mindless themselves took in all the children they could find and stashed them away behind locked doors. Bigger, burlier residents with more determined looks in their eyes started roaming around with bats and golf clubs, shaking down whoever they saw fit for food or money or valuable possessions. Geoff escaped easily enough, locating one of the few private service elevators that hadn’t been yet discovered by the locals, taking him up a few floors.

It was even less peaceful up there. People weren’t exactly rioting in the classical sense of the word, but Geoff sensed that their behaviours were something of an act of rebellion. He spotted the young man who had accosted him earlier, dancing wildy with his hands gripped into fists, a bottle of cheap whiskey tucked underneath his arm and a cigarette between his lips. These parties seemed to bring the people together, or at least, they did for a short while- but darkness brewed behind the eyes of his residents and he’d barely been there, stood still and observing, for forty minutes or so when a fight broke out, blood was shed and a fat gold wedding ring was ripped from the hands of a screaming woman. That seemed, to Geoff, an appropriate time for the party to be over.

But the music kept on playing. The drinks continued to flow. Arrow whimpered, confused, and he rubbed the top of her head gently. The man- _Michael_ , he’d heard someone say- contused to dance.

“Let’s go girl.” he whispered, and the dog followed obediently.

They made their way down to the supermarket, Geoff letting the dog lead, hoping she would sniff Griffon out. Arrow seemed confident, pulling at her lead so Geoff would follow quicker, and soon they were both running down the dimly lit corridors into the even darker supermarket, where quite the commotion was occurring over by the conveyor belts.

There was a girl, dressed in check out uniform with a flashlight gripped tightly in her hands, yelling passionately in Spanish as the other residents gathered around the conveyor belt, tossing rice and laughing jovially as if they were at a wedding. Geoff looked up, and his heart stuttered.

Griffon was on top, running against the current of the belt, as the other people made grabby hands and sneered at her. He yelled at them to stop, but they didn’t listen, so he pushed his way through forcefully and pulled her hand until she slipped and fell, tumbling off the belt, straight into his arms. Arrow growled, chasing the spectators away. Griffon wrapped her arms around Geoff’s shoulders and smiled despite the tears clinging to her eyes.

“C’mon sweetheart.” He said, doing his best to smile back. “We have guests waiting upstairs.”

“My hero.” She smirked, clearly pleased with herself.

 

* * *

 

 

Still a little drunk, Michael swayed on his feet as he stumbled into the supermarket. He’d hoped to make it in time for whatever fight was kicking off according to Jeremey, but it seemed, once again, that he had missed the show. The shop was empty- lights flickering, produce strewn across the floor. Michael kicked a box of cereal and it exploded, tiny grains and oats shooting across the floor.

“Gavin,” he mumbled to himself, suddenly close to tears. “Where are you, boi? I need you!”

“Sorry,” a voice called back. “There’s nobody here but me.”

A figure stepped into the light, red hair spilling over her shoulders, smudged lipstick staining her tanned skin. She smiled, youthful and mischievous, peaking around the shelf corner. Michael squinted, unsure if he was still awake or dreaming, and took several steps forwards.

“I know you.” He said, once close enough. She smiled, smug.

“I can write you an autograph if you’d like.”

Michael didn’t want an autograph. His hands moved on autopilot, reaching out to grab _Meg Turney_ , pushing her against the nearest shelf with an arm pinned behind her wrist. She screamed, begging for him to let her go, but Michael didn’t relent.

“Please,” she sobbed, faced pressed into cool metal, mascara running down her face just like it did in all her movies. “I’ll give you whatever you want- money, jewellery-”

“-I want information.” Michael growled, tightening his hold. “You’re from the top. I need to know how to get there.”

Like a switch, flicked from on to off, Meg’s crying stopped. Her body relaxed. Her face transformed with a slow spreading, curious smile.

“Why didn’t you just ask?” she said quietly. Michael was a little taken a back. Up until this point, he’d been used to using scare tactics on people to get what he wanted. He let go of Meg, slowly, and she turned so her back was to the wall, smiling at him and holding onto her purse tightly.

“If you want information on the penthouse, you’d be better off asking Geoff’s plaything from 2607.” She sneered, and Michael froze, the numbers chiming in his mind. “But,” she continued, failing to notice. “He isn’t here right now, so instead you can have me.” she reached forwards, one finger playing teasingly over the rip in his shirt. Michael shoved her hand away.

“What did you say about Ray?”

“Don’t worry.” She smiled, unzipping her purse. Michael wanted to ask questions, and apparently, she could sense so- because she shushed him, pulling a gleaming silver revolver out of her bag.

Staring down the barrel of a gun, Michael didn’t expect to feel quite so at ease. _Is this it?_ he wondered. _Would I be okay if it was?_

“Here.” The gun laid flat in her palm, outstretched, towards him. “There’s a series of tunnels and vents located on floor twenty-nine that can take you up. This is the only key you’ll need.”

Michael took the gun between his hands, turning it over several times. He’d never held a gun in real life before. It was a strange feeling.

“What about Ray?” he asked, voice low, tightening his grip. Meg huffed.

“He’s Geoff’s favourite. Nobody knows why. Geoff’s never cared so much about someone so low down before. I guess he fucks better than he talks.”

Meg skipped off, leaving Michael alone in the supermarket, lights flickering around him. Rage curdled in his gut- stronger and more uncontrollable than it ever had done. This was far beyond a _Rage Quit_ \- this was fucking _betrayal_ , and one hand gripped tightly around the gun and the other curled into a fist, Michael didn’t know what his next move was. His mind was pure white, seething anger as his feet moved on their own accord, barely-healed injuries suddenly painless. He didn’t know where he was storming off too. He just knew that Ray had some fucking explaining to do.

 

 


	6. part six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait. here's part six.

PART SIX

 

 

 

It could’ve been days- but Ryan had stopped bothering looking for clocks. He was sat on the mattress pushed up against the wall, back rested against the cool concrete, Gavin’s slim thighs on either side of his lap as a smiling face hovered in front of his own.

Yawning, Gavin reached forwards with his tender, delicate fingers and stroked the exposed strip of skin at Ryan’s chest from where his shirt buttons were ripped, flecks of green clinging to the soft hair that resided there.

“Hey.” Ryan stopped him, grabbing Gavin’s tiny wrist between his fist. “Stop.”

“C’mon Rye.” Gavin pouted, shifting closer. “I just want _you_. Don’t you want me?”

Ryan smiled, but it didn’t feel genuine. Truthfully, the last few days spent with Gavin at his side had felt like a dream come true. Shut off from reality, they created their own tower within the confines of Ryan’s four, glowing green walls, where they could be at both ends of the power-struggle simultaneously, rolling around without care for bedsheets, laughing and talking and never once sleeping.

But it didn’t make Ryan happy.

Gavin wasn’t Ray. He tried, he really tried his best, but he could never be Ray and deep down they both knew the truth. In the same way- Ryan was certainly no Michael. Without Michael, Gavin would never be able to function for very long. Soon enough, they’d have to be together again. There was no other option.

“No, I don’t think so.” Ryan answered truthfully, and, a little dejected, Gavin leant off him and scooted backwards on the mattress. “You should go and find Michael. You know what he gets like without you for too long. He’s probably out causing all hell.”

Gavin’s eyes were downcast, bearing into the dirty white mattress that bounced below them. He gave a small nod, picking at the specks of dust that clung to the fibre.

“I should go and find Michael.” He repeated.

“I’ll escort you back.” Ryan offered, but the idea was quickly shut down by Gavin, who shook his head abruptly as he climbed to his feet, readjusting his clothes. They’d been wearing the same clothes for days- and whilst things hadn’t exactly been _platonic_ between them, they hadn’t once taken their clothes off. Ryan didn’t know what Gavin looked like without material to hide his soft skin. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to.

“No, honestly, it’s fine. I don’t want Michael making a fuss.”

“Are you sure?” Ryan asked. The evening was already setting in, and the further down Gavin travelled on his way back home, the greater the risk would be. “There are people bartering with steals like you for money and food on other floors.” He deployed a slight teasing in his tone, hoping to lift the mood. Gavin huffed a laugh, but did not smile.

“Guess I’ll just have to hope they’re not that hungry tonight.” He said, tone surprisingly serious as he finally met Ryan’s eyes. Then, he took a few steps backwards, before turning his back on Ryan and heading off towards the door. He slipped out of the apartment like a shadow through a crack, and he didn’t once pause to look back. Ryan pulled his knees towards his chest and rested his chin on his arms. Still, he hadn’t heard or seen anything from Ray. The thought jarred him. One part of him fretted the worst- imagining Ray dragged down a set of concrete stairs kicking and screaming with a fat dirty hand clamped over his mouth and a burly arm that wasn’t his tight around his middle. The other part of him feared that Ray had simply decided life upstairs was more pleasant than any rush he got from time spent with Ryan. Both scared him, but one in particular reminded him how lonely he was, alone as he was in the room.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have asked Gavin to leave. Perhaps he should’ve been selfish, kept him locked inside all form himself, depriving him of the one he truly loved and needed.

Ryan had never been a selfish man. Still, it wouldn’t have hurt to try.

 

* * *

 

 

Ray rubbed his eyes as he entered his apartment. It was the first evening he’d made it home in weeks, eyes heavy and body longing for the comfort of his own bed. He’d been half tempted to knock down at Ryan’s apartment, but as the elevator creaked and the light inside flickered, he figured it wasn’t worth the risk of getting trapped there for the night. Ray knew better than to roam around the tower corridors once night had set in. He only hoped his handful of friends knew the same.

He dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and yawned, stretching his arms behind his back as he stepped into the main room. He was instantly surprised when faced with a rather bruised and forlorn looking Michael, laid out on his couch with a pained expression and an arm slung over his chest.

Of course, he’d heard about the incident in the supermarket. However, he knew if there was anyone who could bounce back from a beating so severely bloody, it would be Michael _Vincent_ Jones.

He didn’t look in pain- or at least not physically. He just looked anxious, confused even, head propped up slightly on the arm of the couch and bloodstains ruining his grey t shirt. His camera was left abandoned on the table, video feed still playing on loop. Ray couldn’t make out much apart from the sound of Michael screaming. It seemed as if his _Rage Quit_ documentary was taking a sinister turn.

“You okay man?” he asked, stopping just short of the sofa, peering over as Michael’s eyes jumped open and he sat up slightly, eyes surprisingly bright.

 Michael shook his head, and the cut underneath his eye oozed with blood. Ray picked up a tissue from the coffee table and approached, crouching down to dab at his best friend’s bloody tear as best he could.

“Fuck, they really did a number on you.”

“God, there’s no escape, is there?” Michael’s words were slow, but he certainly wasn’t drunk. His eyes were too bright and alive, skin flushed a healthy pink. “No fucking escape. It’s like Hell is real and all the demons are fucking here.”

Ray rolled his eyes. “What are you talking about, dude?” he asked, wiping underneath Michael’s lip and wincing as he spotted the bruising around his throat and creeping underneath his chest. “Stop being so fucking melodramatic and tell me what’s going on-”

“-Even you.” Michael gritted his teeth, tone suddenly accusatory as he leant back from Ray’s touch and sat up on the couch. Ray frowned, but didn’t make effort to respond. Michael continued to ramble, pressing his head into his hands and shaking it from side to side. “-and fuck, I thought you were one of the _good_ ones Ray. I wanted you to be one of the good ones, but you’re the worst of the fucking devils, aren’t you?” he looked up, glare fierce.

Ray sighed, exasperated. “What are you talking about man?”

In one deft movement, Michael reached forwards and had Ray roughly by the hair at the crown poof his head. Ray’s hands flew up instantly to defend himself, but Michael’s grip was too strong. He dragged Ray up from the floor and held him close to his face, mouth curled into an unpleasant snarl.

“Think I wouldn’t fucking find out! Huh?” Michael he demanded as Ray desperately tried to pull away, obviously, to no avail. “I know all about you- you little slut. You and the fucking architect.” He spat, and Ray felt his blood run cold. Michael didn’t know shit- he _couldn’t_. There was no way. Ray was _careful_. Ray was the most careful fucking person in the whole tower.

“You don’t know anything! Stop it!” he shook his head frantically, but Michael’s grip was bruising. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Michael, _please_!”

“Quite the little fucking cock-tease aren’t you, huh?” Michael sneered, slowly raising to his feet on slightly unsteady legs. Ray was left on the floor, Michael dragging him across the rug. “You’ll turn everyone down except for your lovely fucking Ryan but have no qualms about spreading your legs for the most evil man in the building?”

“ _Fuck_ you.” Ray sobbed back, and Michael let go of his hair. For a few seconds, he was relieved, thinking the worst was over. Never once had Michael dared to attack him before. To Ray, he had always been harmless. _Michael…_ he remembered saying. _No, he’s harmless, really_. Now, skin flushed and tingling in pain, he wasn’t so sure.

Something dark glittered in Michael’s eye’s as he reached back down and grabbed Ray by the collar of his t-shirt, yanking him up to his feet.

“Michael- stop- what are you doing-”

“-Shut up.” Michael cut him off, dragging him forcefully across the room. Ray pushed him away with as much force as he could, but Michael was built like a brick-shed, and hardly stumbled. The force worked counterintuitively, and Ray ended up being the one to stumble back, falling painfully on his ass. Michael grinned, malicious, and reached down to grab him by the ankle, dragging him off in the direction of his bedroom.

“Michael, stop! Please!” Ray cried out, doing his best to grab onto the walls and doorways as he was pulled across the floor, but something told him Michael wasn’t in the mood to listen to reason. There was only one way this was going to be settled.

Ray would have to play by Michael’s rules.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Catching sight of his busted face in the hallway mirror, Ray wanted to be surprised, but couldn’t muster up the energy. Michael was already waiting for him on the balcony, angrily puffing on a cigarette and waiting for something to eat. He reached up to touch the bruising around his throat, wincing as the lightest touch from his fingers made it impossible to breathe. Still, he wouldn’t cry. Michael didn’t deserve that.

His so called best friend didn’t even bother looking up when Ray entered the balcony, slamming an opened tin of dog food down on the table. It was all he had left in the apartment, after disappearing upstairs for a week. At least now he didn’t have to lie to Michael or Gavin about where he had been.

As Michael tucked into his dog food without complaint, Ray wondered what Gavin would have to say about the whole ordeal- if Michael ever bothered to tell him. In usual circumstances, Ray would be sure that Gavin would be the first to know about anything to do with Michael or him. Now, it seemed, things had changed. The Tower had taken his friends and turned them into something strange and ugly. They were now unfamiliar to him in ways he’d never before been able to imagine. After this ordeal, Ray had no idea what else Michael was truly capable of.

Blinking back tears, Ray thought of Ryan. How could he visit him now- with his face beaten and bruised and his body withered? Michael had ruined him completely, and any illusion of purity Ryan ever had was certainly gone. Ray supposed, in truth, he and Ryan were only ever going to work in the little bubble of serenity they created for themselves on floor twenty-five and now, Ray had been dragged- quite literally kicking and screaming- back into the real world.

He wondered how Ryan was holding up. Had he changed too? The sparkle in Michael’s eyes these days was completely unrecognisable. Gavin was more unconscious than not. Ray bit his split lip and ignored the blood that spurted out. He really hoped Ryan hadn’t let the tower change him too in the short time he’d been away.

“Where’s Gavin?” he asked Michael, desperate to escape his own thoughts and the vomit-inducing sound of Michael chewing.

“Haven’t seen him.” Michael shrugged, a faraway look in his eye as he looked out on the not-so-vacant lot that surrounded him, construction crews working diligently to create the next paradise. The thought made Ray sick- but right then, he was a little more concerned with Gavin’s whereabouts.

“Is he asleep?”

“He wasn’t home.”

“Oh.”

Michael stabbed at another piece of jellied meat, stuffing it in his mouth before he had chance to swallow the rest. Ray grimaced.

“Aren’t you worried?” He asked, quietly. “I’ve heard the stories about people going missing in the night. Awful things can happen.”

Then, finally, Michael turned and made eye contact with him. “I’m terrified.” He admitted.

 

* * *

 

 

When morning broke, Ryan peeled his tired eyes opened and sluggishly made his way over to the front door. It had been an uneventful night- not a sign of Ray, Gavin or even (oddly enough) Michael. Ryan had perused every party on every floor, even risking his neck in shadier, lower areas but hadn’t spotted a single one of his few associates.

To his surprise, there was a letter waiting for him at the door. The paper it was wrapped in was neat, crisp white and thick to the touch. Ryan’s full name- _James Ryan Haywood, Apartment 2507_ was scrawled across the top in neat, blood red cursive.

Ryan frowned, turning the letter over in his hand suspiciously several times before tearing it open with the corner of his mouth. Inside, a note followed:

 

 

_Dear Ryan,_

_I’m writing to inform you that I need your help, active immediately. Michael Jones of apartment 2012 has become an active danger to our fragile ecosystem. I’ve been informed of an incident occurring between him and another resident who       The Architect cares for deeply. His presence in the tower as such an individual therefore cannot continue._

_If anyone is looking for his partner, Gavin Free, he has taken up permanent residency in the penthouse and is therefore safe from such an animal. Please come upstairs for tea and a business proposition at once, regardless of convenience._

_Yours sincerely_

_Jack Pattillo._

 

At the mere mention of Jack’s name, Ryan cringed slightly. A large part of him really didn’t want to get mixed up in the upstairs politics again, but he was incredibly curious at which of Michael’s many irresponsible misdemeanours had been on a large enough scale to upset Geoff Ramsey personally. It furthered his curiosity about Michael’s whereabouts- as Gavin’s disappearance was likely taking its toll on him. Until that point, the two had been incredibly inseparable despite Gavin’s unconscious affliction. Ryan hadn’t seen the brit since he was sending him off on his way alone at night- an action he immediately regretted when he imagined the filthy hands of the upstairs people draped over him in his new home.

So, despite a few wild voices in the back of his mind telling him to stay put and stay out of it all, Ryan went along up to the penthouse with a few provisions sealed in his briefcase along with his journal. Once leaving the safety of his floor, he knew realistically that it could be days before he could return- especially if _The Architect_ was involved. Ryan hadn’t been upstairs in a while, but judging by the complete state of the lower floors, he dreaded to imagine what debauchery had captivated the top.

He rounded a corner on Floor twenty-six (the elevator was out _again_ , so he’d have to take the long way to the penthouse access corridor) and froze in his tracks when he spotted Ray, creeping out of his own apartment. Ryan’s heart sang from the moment he spotted him, recognising Ray instantly from the back- his low hanging cargo shorts, dirty black and white checkerboard vans, the curl of dark hair tickling his neck.

“Hello stranger-” he called out with a bright smile that promptly fell when Ray turned to face him.

“Hi.” He replied weakly, and Ryan dropped his briefcase, rushing over to hold him. Two large hands swallowed Ray’s battered face as he held his head in place, Ray wincing at even the slightest touch of Ryan’s thumbs brushing over his skin.

“What happened to you?” Ryan asked, breathless as his eyes searches every inch of Ray’s own for some sort of answer. Ray avoided his eye, shrugging away from his touch until Ryan’s hands were dropped back by his sides.

“It’s nothing.” He said flippantly, but Ryan didn’t miss the way his hands twitched nervously and the slight limp in his walk. “Seriously, Rye. I’m fine. Where are you going?”

 _Rye_. That warmed the shock away just slightly, and Ryan remembered the reason he was actually outside of home in the first place.

“Some business upstairs.” He said, and Ray nodded as if he understood. “What about you?”

“I’ve gotta check on Michael.” Ray mumbled, eyes still downcast, and Ryan felt his stomach twist with uncertainty. “He’s been uh… pretty cut up recently. I don’t know if you’ve heard but… Gavin’s missing. You haven’t seen him by any chance?”

Ryan wasn’t sure what it was that compelled him to lie, but he was shaking his head and saying “No, sorry, but I’ll keep an eye out.” Before his brain had a chance to catch up with his lips. Ray nodded in understanding, brushing a stray curl behind his ear.

“I’ll see you around then.”

Ryan nodded tightly. “See you around.”

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Ryan made it upstairs to the penthouse, the immediate boiling rage that demanded to know the name of Ray’s attacker had settled into a simmering anger. He wasn’t even in the mood to play politics with the top people, and lurked in the elevator for longer than he had to, listening in on their conversation. It seemed to be some kind of disagreement- Joel and Burnie and some of the other upperclassmen growing more and more excited as they spouted their vision of the future, accompanied by a few agreeing grunts from Jack and exasperated sighs from Geoff.

“We’ll get Ryan to do it.” One said, in answering the question of just _how_ they would go about offing Michael. Ryan frowned to himself. This was perhaps the appropriate time to show his face, join the discussion and try to stave them off from such ideals, but his legs ultimately refused to move. He decided to stay put, peering around the corner of the glass elevator to catch glimpse at the meeting.

They were huddled around the pitted sofa, Geoff stood before them all with a frown on his face and his arms crossed over his chest. Griffon stood a little ways behind him, eyes glassy and unfocused.

“You’re all insane.” Geoff said. In reply came a scoff, likely from Jack.

“Believe it or not Geoff- we’re trying to protect you. It’s you that he wants, remember-”

“-bull _shit_.” Geoff waved flippantly. “The kid doesn’t even know who I am.”

He wasn’t wrong. Ryan hadn’t seen much of Michael recently, but he was fairly confident in the assumption that the brat was no closer to his epiphany about the tower nor the identity of _The Architect_ than he had been when he started.

“-Look,” one person, Joel, he thought, said. “We get rid of Michael, we get rid of the whole idea of rebellion. We can then infiltrate the lower floors without sizeable resistance and colonise them, right? Get them to do what we want. Then, Geoff can draw up some plans to remodel the lower floors. Maybe we’ll have a bar?”

“ooh- a cinema?”

“A theatre!”

Ryan grit his teeth and seemingly, Geoff did the same, shaking his head in disappointment before turning around to face his wife.

“Still enjoying the party, sweetheart?” he sneered and her glare directed at him was quite possibly the fiercest Ryan had ever seen. She reached up with her hand as if to strike him, but Geoff caught her by the wrist before she even had a chance, pulling her close. She tried to fight him off at first for a few, stubborn seconds, but eventually melted into the embrace, resting her face in her husband’s shoulder and closing her eyes tightly.

At that moment, Ryan chose to move back inside the elevator, and rode it straight back down to his home.

 

* * *

 

 

He knocked on Ray’s door no less than three times before it fell open, having been unlocked the whole time. Ryan’s fingers danced around the small plank of wood he kept strapped to his hip as a makeshift weapon, taking a few hesitant steps into the apartment. Ray never ever left his door unlocked. Something seemed very wrong.

However, he was surprised within seconds to find the intruder being none other than Michael Jones, still, apparently, alive- laid out on Ray’s sofa, staining it with his putrid blood.

“Funny.” He huffed, but every movement looked to be pain as he tried and failed to sit up before settling in his collapsed state, one arm slung heavy over his brow. “I was just thinking about you.”

Ryan winced as he approached him. Some of Michael’s bruises were all too familiar going by the last time they had seen each other, but there was no doubting that some of the inflictions were new, shining and bleeding all over Ray’s once-beige carpet.

“How are you, Michael?” he asked, taking a seat in the armchair adjacent to the sofa. Michael huffed vaguely in reply.

“Seen Gavin?” he asked.

Ryan lied, shaking his head. “No.”

“Then I’m no good.” Michael shrugged, hands moving down to rest over his face. “I’ve never been any good without him, Ryan. This is why Gavin shouldn’t fucking leave me alone- this place fucks with my head. I need him to…” he squeezed his forehead, grunting. “…make my fucking thoughts quiet? I don’t even know.”

“What thoughts?”

“I-I thought I could handle it, living here but…” he trailed off, eyes fixed up to the ceiling. It occurred to Ryan then that not once in the whole altercation had Michael looked his way. He’d recognised him from the sound of his feet against the floor solely.  “Tower life just requires a special kind of person, you know? The ones who keep themselves… contained. People like you!”

“Like me?” Ryan frowned. Michael just scoffed, taking in a shaky breath. Every movement sounded painful and in watching him, Ryan felt his own chest ache.

“Yeah, you know- those self-contained types.” Michael sneered. “They’re the real dangers in this world. Swimming through the halls silently like sharks. Never asleep. Never awake. Detached- they thrive in this place because it’s their ideal fucking habitat.” He sighed, before finally looking over. “People like you, Rye… you’re not like the rest of us. You can continue living despite the fact that you’ve already lost your God-damn mind.”

Ryan was silent, pensive even- for a few ever-stretching seconds. He bit at the pad of his thumb anxiously, eyes fixed on Michael’s wild ones. He thought back to what he had overheard upstairs. Did they really want him to just… _kill_ Michael? Could that even be something he was capable of- _murdering_ another human being in cold blood?

“Perhaps you’re right.” Ryan said. It dawned on him that- if it benefitted him- he likely _could_ kill Michael. It wouldn’t be hard, he was already so weak. Ryan could just stand up right then and there, emotionless, and press one of the soft cushions into Michael’s face until he choked out his last miserable breath and collapsed.

Death would be a gift, really. It seemed- living here in the word they had created for themselves- Michael now only knew nothing but a life of misery.

“What’s wrong?” Ryan asked, noticing then that Michael had started crying, rolled over on his side with his head in his hands.

“You know what’s wrong.” He sniffed. “Of course you’re the first person he’d tell.”

“Who’d tell?” Ryan frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I hurt _Ray_ , Ryan.” he sobbed. “I hurt him really bad.”                     

Ryan’s heart sank into his gut. Ray’s bleeding face- Ray looking after Michael in Gavin’s absence- it was all so clear now. Of course it was them who had come to blows. Over what, Ryan couldn’t imagine. The anger, still simmering from earlier flared like a gas flame, but one more look over at Michael, curled in on himself and sobbing into the couch made it settle again.

“I know.” Ryan said, even though he hadn’t known a thing.

Michael cried out- “I’m sorry.” And in response Ryan simply nodded his head and repeated,

“I know.”

“Is that it?” Michael fumed, glaring up at him. “You _know_? You’re not gonna come over here and fucking cut my throat for hurting him?”

At that, Ryan stood up. He approached Michael slowly, watching as the boy braced himself for the blow that would simply never come. Ryan decided Michael had felt enough physical pain over the last few weeks to become numb, so instead, he crouched down to peer at Michael from his own bottom-feeding level, brushing one hand roughly through his dark curls, tattered and damp with his own blood.

“What’s the point?” he whispered, leaning in so his lips brushed Michael’s forehead. “Living with the guilt of what you did to him is the worst punishment I can imagine anyway.” Sentiment done, he leant back, standing up to full height. Michael watched him silently, tears clinging to the corners of his wide, tired eyes. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

It was his intention to leave the apartment and never look back, really, it was- but as he moved to step through the threshold, Ryan felt the tugging of guilt in his gut. Really, he knew in his heart that Michael was nothing more than a misguided child with too much power behind his own two fists. This did not mean he forgave him, not even for a second.

But he did deserve a chance at redemption.

“Gavin is upstairs.” He said, before his brain had a chance to _think_ him out of it. “There’s a private elevator hidden down a few service corridors on floor twenty-one, another on floor twenty-eight. You’ll find them if you know what you’re looking for. Upstairs, you’ll find the architect.”

He watched silently as Michael pulled himself back up into a standing position from the couch, body shaking as he tried to hold all of his broken parts together. His face set into a frown- one frail hand reaching up to wipe a speck of dried blood from the corner of his lips.

“Thank you.” He said. Ryan just nodded, and then, left the apartment. He turned down the corridor and headed for the elevator, happy to find it was still in service. Then, he rode down to apartment _2507_ , his home, and relished in the silence.

Halfway through cleaning the smears of green paint from his kitchen worktop, Ryan heard the faint _rat-a-tat-tat_ that could only be Ray knocking. He hadn’t bothered locking the door, and instead looked to the door with a small, sad smile as Ray entered the apartment, blinking at him curiously.

“You’re cleaning.” He said. Ryan nodded.

“Acute observation.”

“Sorry I haven’t… I’ve been- I should’ve called or sent a note or something. I’ve been-”

“-busy, I know.” Ryan sighed. He tried not to focus too hard on the dark bruising that casted shadows across Ray’s face or the healing scratch of Michael’s blunt fingernails across his jaw. He took a step towards Ray just as Ray did the same towards him, and a foot or so apart, they laughed awkwardly at each other, trying desperately to remember how they used to interact.

“We should lay down.” Ray said, after a few seconds of awkward silence. Ryan nodded, wordlessly following Ray to the dingy mattress that still laid in the centre of the room. They laid side-by-side, upper arms touching but nothing else. Ray winced as he shifted around, trying to get comfortable. Ryan pretended not to notice.

“Do you feel detached, living in this place?” Ryan asked after a while, remembering Michael’s ramblings from earlier. He was pretty certain by now that he was a shark. He _just kept swimming_ and didn’t look back. He wasn’t so sure about Ray, however. It was hard to imagine that they could be anything but two opposite ends of the same pole. “Does it set you apart from the human spectrum of emotional capabilities?”

Ray snorted a laugh. “Seriously, Rye?” he asked, bruised fingers folding together over his chest as he craned his neck to look Ryan more or less in the eye. “I’ve never been more attached to anything in my life?”

Ryan looked back. He didn’t smile and Ray didn’t either. They didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.

“The building or me?” he asked, his voice no more than a whisper.

Ray didn’t hesitate before answering. “Yes,” he said.


	7. part seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the final chapter. there will be an epilogue.
> 
> thanks, for everything ragehappy fans. i'll never stop being thankful. x

PART SEVEN

 

 

 

“You little shit.” Jack laughed wickedly, dragging Ryan from the collar of his shirt across the floor and out of the elevator like a feral dog. “Mr Ramsey was pretty upset with you for missing the meeting the other day, but _look at that_ ,” he whistled, and the grating call sent a tight shiver down Ryan’s spine. “-an opening has created itself for the meeting to be rearranged.”

 

“Fuck you.” Ryan spat, trying to squirm free, but Jack had the upper hand and dragged him all the way out to the terraced garden. Ryan was shouting and kicking but so far, there wasn’t a sign of Geoff or Griffon to come to his rescue. Nor Gavin, oddly enough, who he was expecting to see.

 

At the edge of the garden by the reasonably high concrete wall that separated them from sailing off the edge at any given moment, Ryan’s heart sunk when he saw Burns, Heyman, Hullum and Sorola all looking equally menacing and dishevelled, arms folded tightly over their chests, leering down at him with twisted smiles. Ryan glared darkly at all of them, earning himself a kick in the gut from Burnie.

 

“What the _fuck_?” Ryan coughed. “What do you want with me?”

 

“We need you to do a job for us, Haywood.” Hullum replied instead, twirling a baseball bat around in his fist. “We need you to kill that pretty redhead boy so he stops causing so much trouble.”

 

“I _won’t_.” Ryan sneered as he was dragged to his feet and several heavy pairs of hands secured themselves to his back. Before he knew what hit him, Ryan was shoved over the edge, body seizing up in shock as the sensation of falling lit up his body. The hands holding onto him didn’t let up, thankfully, but he was shaken a few times over the edge, knees scraping against the concrete wall.

 

“He’s a fucking danger to this whole establishment.” Burnie yelled. “Why can’t you just be _helpful_? This is for the greater good!”

 

“He may be dangerous.” Ryan hissed as the wind was knocked out of him by a particularly harsh punch in the centre of his back. “-but I _won’t_ kill him. He’s probably the smartest fucking kid in the building.”

 

“That’s it.” Sorola huffed, clearly tired of the whole charade. “Just toss him over the edge. He’s no use to us.”

 

 

“No!” Ryan yelled, but it was too late, he was being hauled further over, inches closer to sudden death. for the first time in a long time, Ryan was truly, honestly _frightened_. That, and he was ready to maybe just… _go?_

 

“Hey!” A voice called out. All four of his attackers let go, and Ryan sank down against the concrete in a sitting position, turning around in time to spot Geoff Ramsey, jogging his way across the garden. “You can’t throw him over the fucking edge guys- he still owes me a decent round of mini-golf!”

 

“Are you _serious_?” Jack grumbled. Geoff didn’t reply with words. One black look had the four of them scampering off like a pack of scolded children. Ryan heaved as the oxygen flowed back into his body at a semi-normal rate. Somehow, he was still alive. He may have also been having a panic attack.

 

“There, there,” Geoff patted his head fondly. “You’ll be fine, kid.”

 

“I should go.” Ryan clutched his chest, forcing himself to breathe just a little slower.

 

“No, please. Stay. I insist.” Geoff squatted down to look him in the eyes and smiled, warm despite the coldness of his eyes and soft despite the brittle facial hair and increasingly more prominent wrinkles. For the first time, Ryan noted how much _older_ Geoff actually looked, since they’d first met.

“Stay for dinner.” He said, patting Ryan’s shoulder. “We’re having _steak_.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ryan eyed the indistinct meat on his plate, rich with gravy, adorned with a few vegetables that were more garnish than nutrition. It wasn’t much, but it was the best meal he’d been offered arguably in _months_. Still, he didn’t reach to stuff his face straight away, instead awkwardly making eye contact with Ray, who stood behind Geoff after serving their meal with a guilty frown, eyes fixed on the floor as Geoff touched his leg gently.

 

“Do you need anything else?” he asked.

 

“We’re good, thanks.” Geoff nodded, reaching forwards with his beer to acknowledge Ryan in a toast, which he stiffly accepted. After a few more awkward seconds, eyes lingering on the spot Ray had left behind when he slipped out of the room, Ryan reached forwards to toy with his cutlery. How long had it been since he used a knife and fork properly? They ached in his hands. This was not the kind of civilisation he had become accustom to.

 

It took a little while, but after a few bites they fell into a fairly easy-going conversation. They talked about the tower, because aside from that, Ryan didn’t think he and Geoff had anything at all in common, aside from the obvious raven-haired elephant in the room, and he certainly didn’t think either of them wanted to think about that for too long.

 

“Ask me.” Geoff smiled, and Ryan looked away, shaking his head and grinning.

 

“I don’t… no, it’s a stupid question.”

 

“Isn’t the saying ‘no stupid questions’… or some shit? C’mon, shoot””

 

Ryan sighed, and took another sip of his beer. “It’s nothing… just… I don’t know.” He shrugged, reaching for another bite of the steak he still didn’t quite trust. “Haven’t you ever… I don’t know… thought about just leaving? The doors are never locked, but the people all stay inside. Hasn’t the thought ever crossed your mind to just… go?”

 

Geoff paused thoughtfully before answering, taking an extra minute or so to chew his food, swallow, wipe his mouth with the corner of a bloodied napkin, sip his beer. Then, he hummed, looking up towards the celling briefly, and smiled.

 

“You see,” he started. “I was the first person to set foot in this Tower, Ryan. That means I will be the last person to leave- and if I die here, my body will seep into the ground and remain forever.”

 

“I see.” Ryan nodded as Ray made his way back into the room, catching Ryan’s eye and shooting him a brief, guilty smile before he took his position stood beside Geoff, leaning against the large wooden chair he sad on. Again, Geoff’s tattooed palm reached out and made a home at the back of Ray’s thigh, but this time, Ryan’s stomach didn’t turn. He thought of Gavin, still likely wandering around somewhere up here, amongst the decadence. At that thought, he smiled.

 

“I think, however,” Geoff continued, startling him from his thought. “I’ve finally figured out where I went wrong in this place.”

 

Ryan tore another piece of meat, swallowing quicker. “Oh, really?” he asked, and Geoff nodded, matching his pace, knife scraping across the plate.

 

“It wasn’t that I hadn’t calculated enough variables- no-” he shook his head. “Quite the contrary, actually. It’s that I put too many variables into one concentrated solution.” He gestured to his beer, rotating it around so the water desperately tried to climb the sides, but constantly slipped back down into the murky depths. “Who knows, maybe I’m just ahead of my time.” Geoff gave out a sigh, and brought the drink to his lips, swallowing thickly. “My experiment has… gone out of my control.” He admitted, looking down at the plate before him guiltily, poking the chunk of steak but not bringing it back to his lips, instead frowning as he stared at the meat. “But, I don’t know, maybe it was always designed to be this way. Uncontrolled. How do you feel here Ryan? Settled?”

 

“It took a while,” Ryan smiled, leaning back against his own chair. His eyes flicked to Ray’s. Geoff dropped his hand. “…but now, I think so.”

 

“This meat…” Geoff replied, eyes still fixed on his own plate for a few seconds longer before he turned to face Ray, raising an eyebrow. “It’s tough as shit. What is this?”

 

Ray didn’t even blink. “What do you think?”

 

Geoff dropped his fork, hand instead curling into a fist against the table. He pressed his mouth into a thin, angry line, and breathed heavily through his nose. Ryan didn’t stop eating. He didn’t see a reason why.

 

“Ray, be a doll and bring us some desert.”

 

“ _Please_ would be nice.”

 

Geoff glared. “Don’t push your luck.” And pointed back in the direction of the kitchen. “Dessert.” He said, and with a petulant huff, Ray started off towards the doorway.

 

“Oh,” Ryan added. “Geoff. About Michael-”

 

“You don’t have to worry about Michael.” Ray cut him off, looking over his shoulder from the doorway. “Or any of the others, anymore. They’re too far gone.”

 

* * *

 

 

Chest heaving, Michael looked around the penthouse suite as the shining glass doors of the elevator pulled open. He supposed at one point, the place must have been pretty fucking _nice_. Now, things seemed to be different. He took one step out onto the white carpet and immediately noticed the various stains- eyes flying to the piles of cigarette ash and broken glass; the slashes in the couch cushions and the dangling, unthreaded diamonds on the chandelier. Maybe a few months ago he would’ve scrambled for even one pretty gem, knowing it’s value. Now, however, he had no use for _money_. The key in his hand was heavy. Finally, he’d understood what Meg meant.

 

It wasn’t for getting into the penthouse, not really. It was just to ensure he made it out.

 

Nobody seemed to be home, which was odd. Through the sliding doors was a terraced garden, so Michael just had to assume the party was raging on out there. He hadn’t come all the way up here to drink nor socialize, and although revenge was his biggest motivator, he had other priorities to see through first.

 

Rounding a corner and looking across the hall into what seemed to be a laundry room, he spotted _Gavin_.

 

He looked fine enough- admittedly, more colour in his cheeks than Michael had seen a long time, down on his knees as he took clothes out of a metal tub filled with water, squeezed them, drained them and then rose again to string them up on a makeshift washing line. Around him sat a giant, gleaming washer drier, unused, splattered with what was probably red paint but really did, for a second, look like it could be blood.

 

Michael itched to call out his name and suddenly, figured he’d be happy just fucking the whole stupid plan off and forgetting all about the illusive architect. Instead, he’d scoop Gavin up in his arms and sprint out of that penthouse back the way he’d came as fast as his legs could carry them. They’d run forever, Gavin in his arms or on his back or tossed over his shoulder like an unconscious casualty. Maybe they’d just ride the elevator all the way down to the lobby and _leave_ , returning to a normal life.

 

The words died in his throat.

 

As if they could _ever_ return to a normal life, after all they’d seen and all they’d done. He’d instead remained still, barely meters away from Gavin but concealed by the doorframe he was crouched behind. Guilt and self-doubt made itself at home in Michael’s gut as he continued to watch on silently. Would Gavin even _want_ him anymore, after the things he’d done in his absence? Michael didn’t see how anyone could, nor a single reason why they should. He was damaged goods now. Swallowed by the tower, never to breathe the surface air ever again.

 

He was interrupted from his wallowing by the footsteps of a man he recognised to be Burnie Burns, scratching at his beard, yawning lethargically before approaching Gavin. He leant against the washer drier, looking down at the crouched boy, a deep-set smirk making Michael feel unsettled. Gavin seemed a little unsettled too, and had stiffened the minute Burnie entered the room, a tell-tale sign of anxiety.

 

“Good job with that, Kid.” Burns said.

 

“Thanks.” Gavin mumbled in response.

 

“You know, I was thinking.” Burnie leant back against the drier, one arm limp by his side and the other coming down to settle in Gavin’s hair, stroking from the root to the tip repeatedly. “We should give you a promotion around here. Seeing as your work is so…” he trailed off, finger dipping down the back of Gavin’s skull, closer to the nape of his neck. “… _valued_.”

 

“I think I’m fine just where I am.”

 

“I don’t think I agree.”

 

Michael couldn’t be still any longer. Burnie’s hands all over Gavin enraged him. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. He didn’t care about meeting the architect and he didn’t care about seeing what Ray got up to on the nights he didn’t come home. He just cared about Gavin. He’d _always_ just cared about Gavin.

 

“Get your fucking filthy hands off him.” He bit, stepping through the doorway. Gavin’s head flew round at the sound of Michael’s voice, eyes lighting up excitedly, but the joy on his face was quickly eclipsed with pain when Burnie’s grip tightened.

 

“Or what?”

 

“Or _this_.” Michael lunged forwards with no other thought than _now_ , and headbutted Burnie. He felt the pain spreading across his own skull, ricocheting off his barely-healed bruises and sending a burning, fire-cracker impulse through his entire body. His knees threatened to give out, but he held on, upright, watching as Burnie collapsed to the ground, knocked out cold.

 

“ _Michael_!” Gavin flew to his feet, wrapping his arms around Michael’s neck and hugging him tightly for a few seconds before immediately pulling back, holding him by the face and turning his head every which way to inspect his many, many injuries. “Oh my God, _Michael_ , what happened to you?”

 

“It’s a long story.” Michael let out a breathy chuckle, holding Gavin around the waist tightly and pulling him close, burying his nose in Gavin’s neck, breathing in his smell. It was tainted by the sickly-bleach clean and cigarette smoke of the penthouses’ general aura of decadence, but underneath it all, it was still Gavin and for the first time in a long time, Michael truly felt at home.

 

“Are you alright, boi?” Gavin asked, voice tinged with worry as he gave small slow reassuring strokes to the top of Michael’s back, only to be squeezed tighter. “Hey, Michael. What’s wrong?”

 

“I’ve done so many bad things, Gavin.” Michael breathed into his neck. “Fucking hell. I’ve done _so much_.”

 

“It doesn’t matter.” He could hear the smile in Gavin’s voice, feel his hands pressing in tighter to his skin before a soft kiss was pressed to the side of his cheek. “Nothing matters, Michael. You’re here now. That’s all I care about.”

 

“Are you sure?” he was ugly crying now, but Michael didn’t have the energy to care. It was like all the weight of the last few weeks, months (years? Could it have been years since this all began? It worried him deeply that he couldn’t quite remember) finally made their way to his shoulders, chest and back, effectively crushing him under their immense weight. Michael had been holding it all together for so long he’d driven himself _mad_ , but now- with Gavin back by his side, the dam bust and the hurt came flooding in like a living, breathing tsunami.

 

“Of course I’m sure boi.” Gavin’s voice was quiet against his ear as they hugged again, tighter and tighter until it felt like a boa constrictor was wrapping around them, binding them together in eternal matrimony. “You’ve got me, and I’ve got you. That’s all that matters.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Across the penthouse, in the dining room, Geoff made his excuses and headed out into the garden to go over more of his designs. He was obsessed with perfection, so it seemed, and no matter how many times he felt as if things were finished, there was always more to be added or taken away.

Ryan watched him go, walking out into the open air and across the expanse of his garden, nonchalant as ever with his hands tucked into his pockets and his head dipped down. Despite this constant calm demeanour, Ryan knew that beneath it all, nobody had more of the weight of the world on their shoulders than Geoff Ramsey.

God help him if Michael ever found him.

“You’re thinkin’ real hard.” Ray was sat across him at the dining table, relaxed now that Geoff was gone, with his feet up on the glass and a cigarette already between his lips, waiting to be lit. He reached forwards for one of the dripping wax candles, holding it to the end of the cigarette so the soft, amber hue lit up his face with a beautiful glow. Ryan sighed, and ran a hand through his hair nervously.

Without thinking, Ryan told Ray that he was sorry.

“For what?”

Ryan shrugged. “For everything? Is that cover enough?”

“I suppose so. I’m sorry too, if it means anything. For… y’know. _Everything._ ”

Ryan looked at Ray then. He _really_ looked at him, stared even, and the intensity of his gaze was enough to set Ray of squirming in his seat, a slight brush coming to his bruised cheeks. Michael’s marks still hadn’t healed, and Ryan didn’t think they ever would, inside.

“Everyone’s got their secrets, apparently.” He said, tone just a little accusatory. Ray had the decency at least to look guilty, glancing down at his lap as he sucked on his cigarette, smoke drifting over and tickling Ryan’s nose. For once, Ryan didn’t even crave a puff for himself. It was like all his non-primal urges and desires had died the moment he realised that he didn’t really care at all whether he lived or died.

“It’s better like this.” Ray said, and Ryan couldn’t disagree. With a rye smirk, Ray sat up in his seat and leant forwards on the table, pretty face rested between his soft hands, one curl flopping over the left lens of his glasses. “I guess you could say things were always going to be this way.” He shrugged. “ _He_ demanded it.”

“He?” Ryan snorted. “God?”

 A slow spreading grin blossomed over Ray’s face. His eyes lit up. For the first time, maybe ever, he looked truly _happy_.

“No.”  he said. “ _Geoff_. He designed every inch of this place, after all. Even us.”


	8. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the end
> 
>  
> 
> thanks, always.

EPILGOUE

 

 

On the whole, life in the high rise was good, or, at least- as good as it could possibly be. There was still no as to when or why people had crossed the invisible boundaries set by societal convention and basic human instinct. Ryan didn’t think there ever would be, nor did he care. Living in the tower as long as they had, it had become clear that none of those issues really mattered at all. There was no such thing as decency in their world, which relied only on survival.

Thinking over it, Ray had always been right in his description of their experience. _Living in the Achievement Hunter Lifestyle Tower Complex_ was just like one huge child’s party, where nobody was really invited, but everybody showed up anyway.

And, with Geoff sketching away in his greenhouse and Michael’s documentary long abandoned once the elite entitled few made themselves long scarce, Gavin walking conscious during daylight hours and (arguably, most important of all) Ray by his side, Ryan supposed he could live with that.

He and Gavin didn’t talk much about what had happened between them, but then, Ryan didn’t think he could ever put the nature of their relationship into words. Now that Michael was back on the scene, off the drugs and finally able to hold off from his uncontrollable fits of rage, they didn’t need to talk about it. Sometimes they communicated in semi-secret, a flash of a knowing smile or a brief glance as they passed in the battered halls, but that was all. Ryan was fairly sure Ray knew, for no other reason than the fact that Ray just _knew_ everything, even though he wouldn’t ever say.

It didn’t matter. Gavin and Michael finally seemed happy, both within themselves and with each other. Michael’s eye rarely wandered and the amount of undignified fist-fights he muscled his way into dramatically decreased. The only thing Michael’s hands were good for now were holding Gavin’s tightly, lips trailing a soft path across his wrist and up his arm, leading to his cheeks where soft loving kisses were dropped one by one on each side, across every strip of skin, reminding him every single minute just how _loved_ he really was.

Ryan didn’t see Meg Turney twirling through the hallways anymore. He wasn’t sure whether this was something to be thankful for, or to make him worried, but one lazy Sunday he did manage to pick up some patchy, black-and-white signal on Geoff’s old TV, up in the penthouse, and settled down to watch the first thing that came on. It was one of her old movies, and he smiled extra-wide when he caught glimpse of her grey, grinning face. This was the only time he ever saw her look happy.

 

 

“What are you thinking about?”

 

 

Ryan turned from where he’d been looking out over the balcony of the penthouse to see Ray, hair curling around the lenses of his cello-taped glasses, a can of _Mountain Dew_ gripped in his left hand.

“Nothing.” He lied with a smile, watching as Ray joined him over by the edge, cracking the can and flinching as sticky, dew-coloured liquid trickled down over his hand.

He scoffed. “Sure.” Before licking up the side of the can with his wet, pink, tongue, winking at Ryan as he watched. “Found this can stashed away in my apartment. Figured we could share.” He passed it over, and Ryan took a strong drink heartily, wincing when the fizz hit his chest.

“Thanks.” He coughed slightly, handing the can back as the sun sank over the horizon. “Funny. Mountain Dew.”

“How so?”

“The day we met. Not unlike this one.” He nodded in gesture to the sunset, and Ray leant forwards over the concrete, taking another sip before bowing his head, as if in greeting to the gods above them. “Still just as beautiful.”

Ray turned to him with a coy smile. “The sunset, or me?”

“Both.”

The smile morphed into a tickled grin.

“You’re a shit liar.” Ray told him.

“You too.”

“See? You just proved it.”

 

 

The sun seemed to set faster and faster as the days went on. Ryan felt then like he blinked, and suddenly, the night had fallen, stars twinkling above them asked from the heavy fumes coming from the construction site- four new gleaming _Rooster Teeth_ endorsed towers all in varying stages of complete.

“Do you remember the first night we met?” Ray asked, and Ryan smiled, shaking his head _no_. Ray rolled his eyes. “Rye, I already told you. You’re an _awful_ liar.”

“I know.” Ryan laughed, reaching across to wrap an arm around Ray’s bony shoulder, pulling him in close to whisper in his ear; “ _I just like the way you tell it.”_


End file.
